


Behold, a Paleblood Sky

by furorem



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Case Fic, Creature Dean Winchester, Hunter Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, References to Bloodborne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 14:32:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18478198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furorem/pseuds/furorem
Summary: Castiel had come to the small town of Leavenworth because he’d heard of attacks strongly showing signs of the supernatural, had read about the body found without a heart, ribcage cracked open like an egg. Bloody and horrible in its own way, but nothing had prepared him for this.





	Behold, a Paleblood Sky

**Author's Note:**

> meh.

“Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster...” - Friedrich W. Nietzsche

The medical examiner was a middle-aged man with a clean-shaven square jaw, a beaked nose, intelligent brown eyes and brown hair streaked with grey. Castiel found his calm, serious demeanour pleasant. He answered questions to the point and hadn’t shown any signs of suspicion when Castiel had flashed his fake badge. Castiel examined the body again: pale and bloodless, stitched together where his heart would’ve been, bruises and cuts everywhere. The boy’s eyes closed forever.  

“Can you tell me where he was found?” Castiel asked, already knowing the answer from the police report, but asking nonetheless to create a line of questioning. The medical examiner pushed the body back into the freezer, closing the lid and turning around.

“Forest. The body lay there for several hours. Good for us. This time of the year, the cold preserved him, if you know what I mean,” the man answered with professionalism.  

Castiel nodded, more as a cue for the other man to continue than real understanding, while opening his notebook.

“Hm. Any idea what could’ve opened his ribcage like that?”

The man shrugged, his eyebrows climbing higher up his forehead.

“The wounds look like an animal attack, but what kind of animal would do something like this? During winter? I mean, I’m not a vet, but if you’re asking for my professional opinion – some lunatic killed him and then _tried_ to make it look like an animal attack.”

“The Sheriff disagrees,” Castiel countered, squinting his eyes, curious to see what the answer would be. To his slight disappointed, he only received a shrug as an answer and that was that. The examiner led Castiel back outside, not saying another word on the matter. Shaking his hand, Castiel thanked him and left the morgue, deciding to go see the crime scene next.

In his experience, the local authorities often times missed evidence of the supernatural kind or downright disregarded it. Their natural survival instinct usually kicked it, the reptilian brain telling them to dismiss it. His thoughts, while driving over plowed muddy roads and through snowy trees, drifted to article he’d read the day before about human consciousness – how miraculous it was to be aware of oneself – wondered if it was different for monsters, werewolves – did their whole physicality change when turned or was it different to begin with? After a while of driving his GPS told him he’d arrived and Castiel parked his car, an old pickup truck, at the edge of the woods, close enough to the crime scene, yet still obscured from curious eyes and began trudging through the snow.   

Before long, Castiel stood underneath a mangled corpse nearly getting sick from the sight alone. He was close enough to see, but not close enough to have blood drip down on his – _anywhere_. Yesterday’s snow soaked it up instead; the pure white around the pool of blood reflected the sun, making Castiel squint. The sight above him was gruesome and something he’d never seen before. Something he didn’t expect to see. He had come to the small town of Leavenworth because he’d heard of attacks strongly showing signs of the supernatural, had read about the body found without a heart, ribcage cracked open like an egg. Bloody and horrible in its own way, but nothing had prepared him for this. He knew hunters who had violent tendencies, monster who could tear and rip someone apart, but whoever’d done this, had some real problems. A picture of his older brother flashed through his mind. He banished it to focus on the corpse once again.  

The body of the werewolf was barely recognizable as such. Someone had broken bones and joints to elongate the arms of the creature, binding it between two trees by the transformed wrists, its claws missing, ripped out, by the looks of it. Its whole upper body was transformed. The head, the only bodypart which hadn’t been maimed, hung limbly; eyes red and open, staring at Castiel; muzzle open in a silent screm, scratch the not maimed part, its sharp teeth were missing. Its ribcage was cracked open, heart missing. The worst was the skin and fur: cut away from the back, hanging loosely to its right and left; two giant red flaps – Castiel noted _bloodeagle?_ in his mental inventory of the – whatever this was. The corpse’s lesser body was still human. It showed two muscular, hairy legs, crusted over with blood like the rest of the body. One of them was inked. No pants with no signs of sexual abuse. Whoever had tortured and killed that man got their kicks from killing.

As much as everything in Castiel rebelled against it, he took a few pictures with his phone, then contemplated his next move. Call the police? Take down the body himself and burn it? It would take some time, but spare him from awkward explanations, from giving answers to questions he didn’t have himself, _yet_ , he promised himself and the poor creature, as he sighed and turned back around. He walked back to his truck to get supplies.

Castiel was sweating everywhere, his skin sticky despite the cold, clothes covered in blood, by the time he heaved the body down and stood above the mangled corpse, breathing heavily. It was also the moment Castiel heard voices coming from between the pines. Two. Male. Adult. And they approached his location. _Shit_ , he thought, his ribcage squeezing itself around his lungs. Hunters? Rangers? Hikers? The murderer? Someone else? The risk was too big. He couldn’t confront strangers with a fake badge and a werewolf corpse at his feet. Castiel needed to hide. Looking around, he ran deeper into the woods, as quietly as he could, deciding to walk a giant arch to get back to his car. If someone else was interested in the case, Castiel had to find out who and why.

The only thing he had to do was wait and see if the local newspapers reported about the body the next day or not. In the meantime, he could pay the family a visit. He jogged through the woods, hoping to get to his car without being noticed. As of now, he had a headstart. Grinding his teeth, he wished it wouldn’t be winter and he could’ve hid somewhere to take a closer look at the newcomers, hoping, at the same time, that the high underbrush would conceal his footprints from them. When he arrived at his car, Castiel, to his dismay, couldn’t see any other vehicle nearby. Frustrated he drove back towards the town, thinking about a line of questioning.  

*

The house the Conroys lived in was nothing special; typical two stories, white picket fence, nice garden. They probably had a dog, too. Ringing the bell, Castiel smiled at his hypothesis being proven right as a dog barked to announce his arrival. As Elisabeth Conroy, 40-something, brown-haired, round-faced, a bit plump, opened the door with a stricken face, Castiel could see that she had obviously been crying and felt a pang of empathy. He could feel his face morphing to show it.

Quietly he said, “I’m sorry to disturb you in this time of grieving. My name is Agent Willingham, I’m investigating your son’s case.”

Mrs. Conroy looked at him strangely, gripping the door a bit harder.

“Are you working with the other Agents?” she asked, definitely suspicious, maybe even scared.

So these two voices from the woods were interested in the case. Were they real agents? Or fake, as Castiel himself, here to unravel this mystery? Trying to be as harmless as possible by adjusting his posture, taking a step back, Castiel responded to her question, “The Bureau must have made a mistake and accidently sent two teams to investigate. My apologies. I will consult with my partners and sort it out. Would you mind talking to me again in the meantime?” She mustered him for a second, then nodded, stepped away from the door and opened it. Castiel entered the house, thanking her. It was warm and clean and smelled like wood burning in the fireplace. Family pictures lined the wall of the hallway. It seemed to be a cozy home, a loving athmosphere, were it not for the oppressive sadness that lay over everything like dust. The question was if it was all for show. Castiel had seen enough families with figuratively and literal skeletons in the closet – including his own. 

Mrs. Conroy led him to the living room, offering him a seat and a coffee. Declining the latter, he sat down. She settled across from him, a tissue in her hand. Their dog curled around her feet in silent companionship. Castiel hated this part. The part where he had to remind people of their misery and trauma, trying to get enough pieces to finish the puzzle.

“Again, I’m very sorry for putting you through this,” Castiel started. Empathy came easy to him and it was easy to use as a conversation starter. Mrs. Conroy shook her head, gulping.

“It’s ok. If my boy was killed, I want his killer to be found. It – it’s just – everyone told me it was an accident and then the FBI shows up and suddenly –,” she stopped, her voice wavering. The first silent tears spilled from her eyes. Quickly she dapped them away. 

Castiel felt a wave of sorrow hit him, hard. Out of compulsion, he took Mrs. Conroy’s hand, trying to console her. Despite the distance to his family and his history, the religious notion of Christian charity was deeply ingrained in his very being. She squeezed it, a silent thanks.

“Mrs. Conroy, where is your husband?”

“At work. He, uhm, I think he’s trying to ignore it.”

She took a deep breath.

“Take your time. When you’re ready, please tell me about the night – ”

“Trevor.”

“–Trevor disappeared. Everything is helpful,” Castiel concluded.

Taking a deep breath, Mrs. Conroy continued, “He was a good kid. I know a lot of people say that about their kids, but he truly was a good kid. Never got into any trouble, was as helpful as a teenager can get and he and his friends were nice and responsible – as much as teenagers can get,” she laughed a little at that.

“The night he – he. They met that night. They just wanted to have some fun. He’d told me that they wanted to meet at Sarah’s house because her parents weren’t home for the weekend and they had the big TV in the living room for themselves. I didn’t think twice about it. Told him to give me call when he wanted to be picked up. Next afternoon, the – the police stood in front of my door telling me that -,” she stopped, a sob wrecking through her body. Castiel squeezed her hand and gave her a moment before asking his next question.

“You weren’t worried that he hadn’t called?”

Mrs. Conroy shook her head, brushing away the tears.

“Like I said – it was the weekend, I thought they’d been playing all night and had slept till noon.”

“Was it usual for them to take walks in the woods or -,” he left the question unfinished, waiting to see what the answer would be. Mrs. Conroy didn’t disappoint.

“I – I, uhm, I don’t know how often they went there, but I know that the teenagers have this dare going on. There is an old, abandoned manor in the woods, they dare each other to go in there alone and normally nothing happens,” Mrs. Conroy said and went silent. Castiel felt that the conversation was naturally coming to an end and let go of her hand.

“Thank you, Mrs. Conroy. If there is anything else, please don’t hesitate to call me. Could I take a look at his room before I leave?” he asked, hoping to find answers there, if the other ‘agents’ hadn’t taken anything significant already.

Mrs. Conroy stood up to lead him, Castiel following quietly. After she opened the door to Trevor’s room, another terrible sob wrecked her body, which made her excuse herself. For a second, he let his eyes follow her path to another room and entered Trevor’s room. It was weird every time he did this – entering the space of a deceased person and to feel the stuffiness and emptiness where once there had been laughter and tears, to see the dust settling over the time capsule of someone’s life who would never come back. It felt intrusive, voyeuristic even. Nevertheless, it had to be done.

Castiel did his usual search, getting more and more frustrated by the minute, with every dead end he hit. There was nothing indicating Mrs. Conroy lied, nothing indicating that Trevor had some big secret (not necessarily of the hairy kind), nothing alluding to anything monstrous. Either these fake agents had taken it or the kid was clean. He suspected the latter. The whole family seemed honest. No signs of anything sketchy from his prior research, no masked grieving with underlying motivation of revenge, just a mourning mother and an absent father, probably trying to forget by working. Whoever had killed Trevor Conroy and John Doe was still out there and Castiel had yet to see the connection.  

Sitting on Trevor’s bed, in this suffocating space of tragedy, Castiel hated how isolated he felt from the hunter’s community. His investigations would be easier if he had someone to call for help, to ask if they knew someone working the same case, to ask for advice. The crushing feeling of isolation was replaced by burning hatred for its source, for a moment, but then Castiel diverted his thoughts away form that path and stood up. Plenty of work to be done.

*

Later that day Castiel drank his coffee in a small diner designed to resemble a cabin, while sorting his information and surfing the web about the town. After he’d interviewed Elisabeth Conroy he’d talked to Trevor’s friend Sarah, but she hadn’t said anything that wasn’t already in the file: Drunken kids who just wanted to have fun, dared each other to enter the old abandoned manor, heard a loud howling noise, ran, Trevor fell and something got him, they were too scared to call the police, but did so anyway the next day. The other two had confirmed the story, all of them still in shock. In none of the houses signs of something suspicious or anyone hiding something beastly. The only detail, which had changed was the appearance of two agents questioning them.

( _“Oh and one last thing, Sarah. What were these Agents’ names? Just so I can resolve this misunderstanding”._

_“Ah, I think it was Johnson and, uhm, something with M.M-Ma-Mercury? I think?”_ )

Nervous energy like galloping horses ran through his system. He’d come here to investigate the murder of Trevor Conroy, find the beast which had done it and kill it. Now on top of that, he had to find out who was responsible for mutilating ‘Werewolf John Doe’. Motive a fat red question mark in his mind. Could be a rival pack, another hunter, something else entirely. And to make matters worse, someone had seen the corpse in the woods, had even searched for it.

He thanked the waitress refilling his beverage absentmindely, staring at his screen. His eyes burned, a dull throbbing had started in his skull. Castiel rubbed his temples with his thumbs, his fingers massaging his forehead, but it was for naught. He needed a break. Just as he’d decided to go back to the motel, a strangely familiar voice carried over to where he sat in the quiet corner booth. Resolutely, he stared at his screen to appear still absorbed in his work, while trying to place the voice at the same time. It took the waitress taking their orders for him to recognise the deep baritons as the voices from the forest. Interesting.

“Any word from Bobby?”

“Nah. Was just as puzzled as we were,” a pause, “poor guy. I wonder who he has pissed off to go all Hannibal Lecter on him.”

Another longer pause, then in a near whisper, “Werewolf marking their territory? Another pack?”

“No idea, but it certainly ain’t pretty. Thanks.”

Their waitress had reappeared, cutting off the conversation. When next they spoke, it was to banter about the food (burger vs salad) and its deliciousness. _Time to go_ , Castiel thought. Castiel packed his belongings, stood up and put his phone to his ear, the camera app open. While he walked past the two men sitting in the booth in front of his own, he took what he, hopefully, thought were some good shots and left the diner. He didn’t notice a pair of green eyes following him outside or the slight nod towards his retreating back.

Castiel slowly manouvered his car along the snow covered streets back to his motel. It was sweet with its woodpanelled front and rustic charm. It tried to be hospitable. Back in his room, he took a quick shower, washing away the grime and stress of the day and fell asleep, looking at the opposite wall, empty, ready to be used as a mnemonic device.

*

The next day Castiel went to visit Ranger Griffin. He’d been the first one at the scene, but to no avail. The man was like a ghost. When Castiel called him, the phone went to voicemail every time; when he went to his office, the man was out, doing his duty. Apparently, he didn’t think it was necessary to call Castiel back or come back to his office to talk to him in person, even though he’d told his secretary of the importance of the situation. Unable to speak to the ranger, he stopped at the local copy shop next, frustrated to have wasted his time with Griffin. He might’ve pushed the buttons of the copy machine harder than necessary, might’ve glared at the girl behind the cash register without reason.

He only felt better when that same afternoon the white wall of his room changed into a mosaic of pictures, notes, facts and questions. Right in the middle, like the exclamation mark it was, hung a calender with the phases of the moon from the month before and current month, the full moon, two days from then, circled in red. Not knowing what the hell was going on, Castiel knew he had to solve this fast. The potential that anyone else could get hurt was high. And if Ranger Griffin didn’t want to talk to him officially, something which seemed suspicious, well, Castiel had the advantage of not being real FBI. He stopped at a local diner, the same one as the night before, to eat dinner, a necessity he often forgot during hunts, keeping an eye open for the other fake agents. They didn’t show up. With mixed feelings, Castiel paid and left.

Breaking into Ranger Griffin’s office at night was ridiculously easy, but didn’t yield any results either. It was completely ordinary, from its wooden desk to the file cabinets lining the wall. The ranger had no personal objects, no secret drawers or anything compromising lying around. The office was neither neat nor messy; a map of the adjacent national park on the wall, an old computer, a few papers lying around on the table, notes, pens. Trevor’s file was already sorted with a note attached to be careful and look out for bears or wolves (funny in its own morbid way).

The report itself was fairly short: Griffin had been called by the police, asked to join, been first at the scene, declared Trevor dead as indicated by his wounds, the blood and the missing pulse and handed the case over to the police. How that report stated that Trevor’s death was due to an animal attack, Castiel knew. With a deep sigh he put the file back in its place and glared at the computer, mocking him with its mere presence. Castiel could’ve taken a look at it, but technology wasn’t his forte and he’d never learnt to hack someone, even though his brothers had tried to teach him so tenaciously. He doubted that he would find anything anyway. If Ranger Griffin had a secret, he’d have to break into his home and search there. But even that was a far-fetched accusation by now. Just because the man was busy, didn’t mean he had a secret or anything to do with any of the murders.

Annoyed about how pointless the day’s investigations had been, Castiel returned to the motel, already planning the next day. For starters, he still had to find out who the mysterious agents were, before any unwanted confrontations could happen, he still had to talk to Griffin, had to find out who ‘Werewolf John Doe’ was and had to investigate the manor in the woods. It took him a while to fall asleep, mind racing, eyes clued to the wall, until fatigue took over.

His sleep was haunted by snow-covered trees, which stretched up up up towards the sky – dark and full of stars and an illuminating a pale full moon – while he stood helplessly in the shadow of the canopy, blood dripping like molten wax from the branches. From between the trees, he could hear the howling of beasts and flashes of his family’s faces contorted into wolves heads with spear-like teeth.

*

Castiel woke up with a hurting face from grinding his teeth in his sleep. Sleep, which had drained more energy from him than given it back. Waking up and starting his mourning routine was done with a metaphorical iron ball chained to his soul. He skipped breakfast, having no appetite, deciding that it was too late in the day anyway. That there were more important matters to think about – like finding out who these agents were.

Sitting down at the small, stained table in his room, he opened his laptop tried to identify the two mysterious agents. He searched for them in the FBI database, but of course, just as he’d thought, they didn’t exist. The pictures he’d taken at the diner had been to shaky to use for any other identification software. After this initial bust, Castiel sat deflated in his chair, staring at the pictures for a long time. It took some willpower to shake himself out of his reverie to change into a suit and try Griffin’s office again.

It turned out that once again Griffin was away, working, searching for the wild animal which had attacked the Conroy boy. His secretary told him that Griffin had left after his two collegues had spoken to him that morning. Inside his head, Castiel cursed, as the secretary told him all that with an apologetic smile. On the outside, he gave a small smile on his own and excused himself, thanking him. Once he left the office and let the cold, fresh air soothe his anger, he decided to visit Sheriff Garcia again and ask her for any recent missing person announcement, hoping someone was searching for John Doe, and the alleged spooky house in the woods.    

It became more and more obvious that it was truly winter the later it got. It was barely four o’clock as the sun started to dip beyond the horizon, taking away its light. Thick snowflakes fell to the ground to create a carpet of white. Even with his winter jacket and the heater blasting, Castiel shivered. It was the combined forces of cold, nervousness, worry and lack of sleep. Before he went to see Garcia again, Castiel took a few minutes in front of the station to compose himself, breathing deeply, closing his burning eyes. A heavy tiredness had seeped into his bones without him noticing. Sighing white clouds, he went into the building to talk to the Sheriff.

Garcia raised an elegant, dark eyebrow as she saw him entering his office, but offered him her hand and a greeted him anyway.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again. Your collegues told me that there was some kind of miscommunication?” she said as she leaned her elbows on her desk, mustering him from chocolate brown eyes. Kind and sharp eyes, the eyes of a mother and a police officer. Castiel wasn’t surprised, of course they’d talked to the Sheriff, of course they’d make his life this much harder. Deeply annoyed at the situation he found himself in, Castiel produced a fake smile and hoped it looked genuine.

“Yes, it seems there was a double assignment. Someone in the Bureau didn’t get the memo. I’m trying to wrap things up for my report so I can go home,” he lied, hoping it sounded somewhat honest.

Garcia nodded, leaning back in her chair.

“Documentation is a bitch. Got anyone waiting for you?” she asked, her eyes flitting to the frame on her desk.

“Not yet. Not easy as a workaholic,” he answered. This at least was some kind of half-truth. “How about you?”

Smiling, Garcia started to tell him about her two kids (her daughter, who loved climbing trees and had broken her arm a few days ago because she’d lost her grip and her son who was quiet and shy and loved to read and scolded his own sister for her stupidity), while a smile stole itself onto her face. She didn’t mention anything about the father and Castiel didn’t ask. It was nice to hear something joyful and happy amidst the bloodshed and the horror of hunting, to know what he protected by solving this mess.

As the Sheriff came to a stop, Castiel took the opportunity to say, “That sounds lovely, Sheriff Garcia. But I must ask a few last questions: there hasn’t been any missing person reported until now, I guess?”

It was worth a shot to assume these two ‘agents’ had asked the same question. Sure enough, Garcia shook her head, popping the p on her nope.

“I don’t understand why you guys need to know, but I trust your judgement.”

Castiel nodded.

“And can you give me the exact location of this mysterious manor in the woods? Do you know the owner of the property by any chance?”

“I’ve got no idea who owns the house, it’s not as abandoned as it seems, that much is clear, even though the kids in town like to say that. I asked your collegues if I should find out, but they said they’d come to me about it, if necessary,” Garcia explained. Then she did something on her computer and a few seconds later the printer revealed a map.

“Here,” she said, handing him the piece of paper, “this is the location. I already took a look at it, though. The kids didn’t manage to break in, got spooked before they even tried. I still think this was an accident, just some animal if you ask me. Ranger Griffin agrees with me, but you guys do what you think is right.”

Taking the piece of paper, Castiel stood.

“Well, have a nice trip home, Agent Willingham. See you around or hopefully not,” she joked and shook his hand.

“Thank you, Sheriff.”

When he left the office, the moon mockingly greeted him, hanging full and round in the nightsky. There was nothing else to do but investigatin the house and hopefully find more clues as to what had happened.

*

Perhaps hunting by night (during the full moon and exhausted) hadn’t been the best idea, Castiel thought in retrospect, as he was thrown against the wall of the gigantic living room. Glass splintered, raining in tiny pieces down the carpet; wood creaked and books woobled dangerously in their place, until they couldn’t hold on anymore and followed Castiel, who lay crumbled on the floor. Groaning, he picked himself up, balancing on his hands first and looked up at the creature standing in the doorway to the living room, reeking of wet dog. The werewolf slowly walked towards Castiel, his posture indicating that he was ready to pounce. Frantically, Castiel’s eyes searched the room for an exit, his weapon, anything that could protect him from the sharp claws, elongated teeth and obvious bloodlust in the monster’s eyes. With trembling hands, he stood up, never once leaving the other out of sight.

His back was againt the wall, literally, and if he couldn‘t come up with a plan fast he would die. As the midnight snack of this beast. It stood a few feet from him, still slowly advancing, playing with its prey. Did Castiel imagine it or did its mouth turn upwards a bit? Did the smell of blood leave its mouth on hot air? Did it grow in size? Castiel gulped, his eyes wide. His silver knife lay in the hallway, forgotten, from where the werewolf had thrown him into the adjacent room; his two exit options were straight to the hallway or to the right into a room he didn’t know. Straight into the hallway wasn’t an option, the beast blocked the way. He had to take the door to his right, hoping he could make it through the door, long enough to orient himself and find something – another exit, another weapon. His foot scraped against the floor, getting into position; his body turned slightly to the right.

Beast and man regarded each other in the shadowed room. Castiel was about to run. Then the big window to his left shattered. Time slowed. Shocked, Castiel stared as a big, lean body of a wolf – an actual fucking wolf – came jumping through the window. The moonlight illuminated its light brown fur, the splintered glass broke the pale rays, reflecting it back onto the wolf in shining white dots, a million stars, before it landed right in front of Castiel protectively. He could hear a low menancing growl coming from its muzzle. Its huge body blocked Castiel from view, but also blocked his view of the werewolf. His heart was racing, his plams sweaty, he could feel a pearl of sweat running down the side of his neck.

_What the fuck is going on?!_ Castiel wanted to scream the question from the top of his lungs. Instead, his breath was stuck underneath his chin, trying desperately to get out and let new air in. Seeing black dots in his vision, Castiel focused on his breathing: Let it out through his mouth, took new air in through his nose. Wolf and werewolf jumped into action, attacking each other ferociously in a whirwind of fast moves and thunderous growling, splintering even more furniture. Castiel ran. He closed the door behind him swiftly and looked around. He stood in the kitchen, another door further to his left led to another room or to the hallway. Frantically, Castiel began to search the cabinets for something sharp and silver. He needed to help the one who was saving him outside. He was stopped by the other door opening. Swivelling around, a tall figure stood in the doorway, screaming and gesturing at him, “Hey! We need to get you out of here! Hurry, c’mon!”

In that moment, a loud crash came from the other room, followed by the squeal of a hurt animal. Castiel’s head snapped to the door, then he turned to the stranger.  

“No. I need to finish this! Someone helped me, I can’t -,” before Castiel could finish his shouted explanation, the other man interrupted him, “ _I know_. My brother is taking care of it, now- would you just.”

Sick of waiting for Castiel to move, he’d come into the kitchen, had taken him by the arm and started dragging him out of the kitchen, running down the hallway, grabbing Castiel’s bag on the way out into the cold night. From inside, the crashing of furniture and the growling of beats could still be heard. Castiel was sheparded into an old muscle car, his own pickup forgotten and still hidden further down the road, and the other man, now regonizable as one of the mystery agents, drove. Still in shock and disbelief, Castiel turned around and the last thing he saw before they turned the corner was the _actual_ _fucking wolf_ jumping through the window from which he’d come to rescue Castiel, attacking the werewolf lying outside in the snow. Rescue him. Jesus. He hadn’t prayed in years, but now he felt like doing so.

“Yeah? You’re religious?” came the careful question.

Startled, Castiel turned around to watch the driver, “Did I say that out loud?”

The driver only nodded with a small smile.

“No, not really. I mean, I was, I suppose, but - ,” he stammered and stopped, embarrassed by himself, then rushed forward with a groan. Drained of energy and adrenaline, his head collided with the glovebox. He felt a hand shaking his shoulder.

“Whoa, dude. You’re ok? Should I pull over? Dean is gonna kill me, if you vomit in the car.”

The statement pulled a rough laugh from his throat. A laugh, which turned hysterical and made him lean back again, allthewhile holding his aching side, where a claw had ripped opened his skin. It was the first time he felt the wound.

“A werewolf nearly killed me, while another full grown wolf saved me. Should I go on? Because I can - the mysterious guy posing as FBI Agent apparently is said werewolf and the other guy is his brother and while at least that mystery is solved, this case is still a conundrum. There’s this whole werewolves, as in plural, killing while also getting killed mess with no motives, clues nor suspects.”

His voice might have jumped an octave higher during his speech. He might also get a headache. Groaning, he started to massage his temples.

“Feeling better?” his driver asked clearly amused.

Castiel closed his eyes, exhausted from the night, from this whole case, angry at the turn of events.

“Slightly,” he conceded.

“We thought you were the guy that picked the werewolf in the woods to pieces, but then we found out you posed as an agent, here to investigate Trevor Conroy. Imagine our confusion.”

Castiel felt the urge to defend and distance himself from the crime, “That wasn’t me. I’m trying to find out who did it. Who did both of these horrenduous crimes to prevent further bloodshed.”

“Hm. Glad to know the guy my brother’s been lusting after is a fellow hunter with his sanity intact. He got real conflicted about it,” his driver said cheerily, laughing at Castiel’s confused squinty eyes.

“Don’t tell him I said that. He would deny it anyway.”

Carefully they advanced onto the mainstreet, streetlights reflecting the freshly fallen snow. Still white like the moon, who hung full and fat in the sky. Castiel wanted this night to end.

“I’m Sam Winchester, by the way.”

Castiel nodded even though Sam couldn’t see it, then added his name as an afterthought.

“You made my life a lot harder,” Castiel complained. It earned him a snicker.

From afar, Castiel could make out the motelsign blinking in colourful lights. 

“Up there is the motel I’m staying in.”

“Yeah, I know. Nice to meet you, Castiel. Don’t look at me like that. You’ve been on our radar from the very beginning. We just couldn’t place you in all of this. Been following you the last couple days.”

Sam parked the car and exhaled at the same time the motor exhaled the last of his breath for the evening. Castiel was glad to have arrived at the motel.

“Sorry for that. C’mon. My brother probably wants to talk to you, too,” Sam eventually said and existed the vehicle. Castiel followed suit, biting his tongue as pain shot through his side while he stood up and closed the passenger door. Sam stood on the other side, a concerned look on his face.

“I’m fine,” Castiel hissed through gritted teeth, “But what about your brother? Shouldn’t we go back to help him?”  

“Don’t worry about Dean, he’ll take care of it. I really think we should patch _you_ up.”

Castiel shook his head. “No, thanks.”

Still worried, Sam lead the way to their room with a crease between his brows. He noticed that his own room was a few doors away from the brothers but didn’t comment on it. Inside, Castiel could see the telltale signs of a hunter staying temporaily. Duffel bags with clothes and probably guns on the beds, papers about the investigation on the table, a mug in the small kitchen sink the rooms came with. Ready to go whenever necessary, homey enough to call this home for a few days or weeks. He sat down on the green worn couch opposite of the beds, closing his eyes. It was quiet, while Sam was doing something in the background. Castiel was too tired to open his eyes and find out what.

Castiel guessed he must’ve fallen asleep. His eyes snapped open when the door opened with a bang and angry strides of heavy boots entered the room. The other brother, Dean, had arrived. Dean, despite being handsome, looked like shit. His hair and face were muddy, there was blood on his neck and his clothes were just as dirty. And wet. Blazing green eyes swept over the room and stopped on Castiel on the couch.

“You!” A finger was raised, more heavy steps and Dean stood right above him, righteous fury hailing down on Castiel, “What did you think?! Snooping around like that – by yourself – on the night of the full moon in the middle of the frickin’ woods! You coulda been killed!”

Unhappy with being belittled by Dean, a man who was his age from the looks of it, and a werewolf on top it, Castiel stood up. Face to face with Dean, merely a centimeter separating them, Castiel whispered, “You better show me some respect before I kill you right here and now, werewolf.”

Dean flinched at the insult and took a step back, the look of anger still present in his eyes and a frown on his features. Castiel saw the muscles jump in his cheeks.

“That how you thank me for saving your ass?”

Another door opened and revealed Sam stepping out of the bathroom with wary eyes flitting between Dean and Castiel. Suddenly Dean’s entire posture relaxed as he turned around and gratefully accepted the towel Sam handed him.

“I’d to walk the whole way back, Sammy. Couldn’t you’ve waited for me?” he complained, wiping his face and neck, before pulling off his plaid shirt and black t-shirt underneath.

“Look at me – I’m a mess.”

Sam winced sympathetically.

“Sorry. Castiel was injured. Still is. I thought he might need some medical attention.”

Both brothers turned their gaze to Castiel, who’d watched the exchange, getting more and more annoyed.

“Castiel? That your name? Your parents actually named you that?” Dean asked with disbelief, scrubbing at the dirt on his body, aware of his nudeness, now that his anger was gone and tried to overshadow that fact with snark.  

“If all you do is ask stupid questions and throw accusations at me, I would like to leave and continue this conversation in the morning. I’m tired,” Castiel said frostily, hurt by the nerve Dean had struck.

Dean actually looked ashamed as Castiel’s words sunk in. Castiel didn’t care. He took his leave, saying, “Goodnight.”

As Castiel left the room, Sam turned around to look at Dean with the bitchface, reserved only for Dean, saying, “Really?”

“What?” Dean asked, confusion written on his face. Up until that moment, Dean didn’t know that the bitchface could get even bitchier. Without saying a word, Sam gestured to the closed door through which Castiel had left a few seconds prior. Pulling a face Dean looked at Sam, pleading with his eyes. No chance.

“Let me shower at least, I look like wet dog. Smell like it, too.”            

*

Castiel had just finished his shower and stitches when someone knocked on the door. Slinging a towel around his waist and getting his gun from his bed, he carefully walked to the door, unsure what to expect. It sure as hell wasn’t Dean as he peeked through the slit of the door he opened to look who the unexpected visitor was. Sure, they’d had time to cool off, but he’d assumed that the other man would still be venting to his brother.

Uncocking the hammer, he opened the door fully to let the other man in. Dean shouldered his way into the room impatiently, uncaring of the gun. While Castiel closed the door behind him with an air of annoyance, Dean stood in the middle of the room, inspecting everything as if searching for something, until he started to walk towards the wall where Castiel’s collection of information hung. Castiel merely observed his nervous behaviour with crossed arms, wondering why the other man had come in the first place.

“How did you know which room I was in? Did you harass the receptionist?” he asked, curious.  

“Followed your scent,” came the short reply, as if this was standard.

“My scent.” A beat of silence

“You possess hightened senses as a human because of your – condition?” Castiel tried to ask in the most polite manner possible. Dean had come for a reason, he didn’t need to atagonize him.

Dean nodded, still not looking at him, hands in his jeanspockets.

“They’re muted, but generelly speaking, yeah. ’S not like Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde in here. Being a – werewolf is a part of me. I was born with it,” he whispered the last part so quietly, if Castiel hadn’t listened, he would’ve missed it.

„I think somewhere in this statement is a joke about being a ‘furry’,” he joked, trying to lighten Dean’s sudden bad mood.

Hidden from view, Dean allowed a small smile to graze his lips, “Guess so.”  

In the silence that followed, Castiel wandered over to the fridge. Meanwhile, Dean’s eyes flitted to Castiel’s stark naked frame, then back to the wall, where several pictures adorned the middle of an intricate web of causalities. Dean had come to settle on a truce, after his brother had told him in a stern tone that Castiel’s knowledge and expertise would come in handy. Seeing the wall, Dean understood what Sam had meant – there was lore scribbled on post it notes, questions tucked next to pictures, a calender with the phases of the moon neatly written down, witnesses’ statements, reports.

“Here,” Cas said and handed him an uncapped cold beer, forcing Dean to turn around and be confronted with Castiel’s nakedness once again. He mumbled a, “Thanks“, unsure how to proceed, now that Castiel had offered him the figurative olive branch. Sam was the people person. Sam wouldn’t get sidetracked by Castiel’s ridiculous attractiveness. Looking back at the wall, at a picture of himself (taken from a smartphone at a bad angle) he settled for the truth, “We’re not your enemies, you know. I’m – Look, I think you owe us an explanation and so do I. Quit pro quo, Clarice. We’re working the same case, Cas. Sam told me you complained how we fucked it up for you. Well, it certainly wasn’t easy for us after people talked to you. They made you sound like some fucking angel.”   

Behind him, Castiel huffed and grunted something inaudible. Dean turned around to ask him about it, but instead watched as Castiel went to his suitcase lying on the bed, pulled out a few clothes and dropped the towel without shame. Dean snapped his head back to the wall, once again observing the wall of items.

The difference this time was that his focus wasn’t on the evidence but rather on the scent he involuntarily picked up as Cas’ private parts were exposed for a few seconds. That, paired with the fact that the guy had walked around nearly naked, showing miles of scarred flesh and a well-defined body, made Dean think of getting to his knees, right there and then, to push his nose into Cas’ crotch and deeply inhale the earthy scent he gave off.

His thoughts spiralled. To pushing Cas onto the bed, climbing on top of him, letting his hands wander slowly upwards, followed by his lips until Dean could bury his nose in Cas’ neck as well. He’d smell like clean clothes and his own odeur of sweet-sour skin. What would it be like to kiss him there? Letting his lips graze the softness of his neck, just where his stubble ended, the tip of his tongue catching his aroma. What would he taste like? Salty from sweat or like musk from cheap shower gel or completely different? What if he’d let his mouth wander to Castiel’s? What would the inside of his mouth taste like? Their tongues touching, combining their spit, their taste – Dean wanted to smell and taste him everywhere, wanted to rub himself against Cas, head to toe, their bodies touching in all the right places. And what if he went down on Cas? What would he taste like betw- His thoughts were interrupted by none other but the subject of his desire.  

Cas had changed into clothes quickly, uncaring if Dean was in the room with him, unknownig what went through the other’s head, talking all the while, explaining how he’d found the case, apologizing for his rude behaviour, asking Dean about his condition in his best non-judgemental voice. Getting no response for his question, he turned around to find Dean scrutinizing his wall with a strange absent look on his face.

“Dean? Are you listening?” He touched the other man’s shoulder. Dean tensed and turned around to face him. Seeing the worried gaze from Cas, he cleared his throat and took a swing of his beer.

“Sorry, did you say something?” Dean voiced hoarsely.

Cas’ head tilted a bit sidewards, a questioning crease between his eyebrows, squinting his eyes. 

“I asked you what the difference between a turned werewolf and a born one is?”

Trying to flee from Cas’ inquisitive gaze, Dean went over to a chair. No need for the guy to see his half-hard dick. Sitting down he answered with a shrug, “Control. I can change whenever I want. Real change. Not this fugly half-turned asshats. And I don’t feed on human hearts. I do eat a lot of meat, though.”

Following Cas, who sat down opposite of him, with a glint in his eyes, he grinned, but dropped it at Cas’ confused look. It was worth a shot.

“Honestly, I’m, ah, more like a skinwalker than a werewolf. Or at least in the sense most hunters talk about.” He leaned forward, his arms touching his thighs, an inquistive look in his eyes.

“I mean that’s what you are, right?”

Taking a sip from his beer, Cas nodded. There was no reason to deny it and if Dean managed to be honest with him, he could repay the courtesy.

“Family business. Although, I’ve tried to keep my distance from them for quite some time now.” A crooked smile appeared on his face and with self-deprecation, he went on, “I always tried to do the right thing by doing what was expected of me. I was obedient for the longest time. No one questions my family’s hierarchy,” Cas stopped to drink a large portion of the beer, looking at the bottle as he continued, “I rebelled against their extremist views and paid the price.”

No matter how many years had passed since then, talking about his family made his stomach churn in anger and pain. Cas sighed, then raised his head to gauge Dean’s reaction. The other man watched him with empathy displayed in his gorgeous green eyes and a thoughtful expression. Cas hadn’t realised how during his speech, he’d begun to mirror Dean’s posture and how close together they sat. Only a centimeter separated their knees from touching, heads bowed towards each other in intimacy.

Dean gulped, then leaned back in his chair and took another sip from his beer. It didn’t calm his nerves, his metabolism breaking it down too fast, but it covered the awkwardness. Cas blinked and did the same.  

“I, ah, know how you feel. Being the freak in the family. Huh, funny when you think about it. As if hunting is a normal occupation,” Dean disclosed. Sighing, his right hand drifted over his face. He didn’t know why he’d said that, but he could feel Cas mustering him from head to toe.  

“You said you were born a werewolf. Now you tell me the rest of your family is human. Sam certainly is. How is that possible?” Cas asked confused. For a few moments, Dean didn’t say anything, contemplated lying, but something about Castiel and the way he looked at him, made him want to be honest, at least to an extent.

To gather his courage, he took a long swing of his beer and started talking, “My mother passed it on to me. She died when I was a kid, taking her secret to the grave with her. Leaving me to deal with this shit on my own.” His face turned into a frown, years of anger and hurt palpable, but sighed immediately, “My dad was never the same after she got killed. He, ah, became a hunter, obsessed with revenge. He was more concerned about killing every last one of them then caring for his own children. Can you imagine how freaking scared I was the first time I turned?” Dean’s hands fiddled with the label, peeling it off the bottle bit by bit. Shit, why did he keep talking?  

“I’m sorry, Dean. It must have been hard for you,” Cas uttered, trying to speak words of comfort. He could hear how much she meant to Dean, could understand Dean’s struggle, even though his own had been a different one. To loose one’s mother so early was a cruel fate. To be forced to grow up quicker than necessary a harsh life. Cas wondered what had killed her but sensed that this was a story for another time.   

“Understatement of the year, buddy. I was the one who took care of Sammy. I was the one who had to – nevermind,” Dean growled.

Dean stood and began to prowl the room, burning away the inner turmoil the topic of his parents always conjured. Despite his initial hesitancy, this felt good. Talking about this shit felt good. To feel his mind shovelling itself free from being choked underneath graveyard dirt for years.

“Sam figured it out eventually. Kid’s the smarter outta the two of us. He found someone who could help and dragged me there. Spent a few months up north in Maine, ahh, learning to control it. Myself, you know. Dad never even questioned it after I‘d said it was a hunting trip. Only told me to watch out for Sam,” Dean revealed and finally concluded quietly, “I never told him the truth.”

Too absorbed in the memories, Dean jumped when Cas put a hand on his shoulder for a second time that evening. It was strong and tender all at once. Sincere and actually comforting. Their eyes met. Dean wanted to say something, but nothing would have been adequate. His mouth hung open for a second. Cas’ presence an all surrounding warmth.  

“Cas –”

“Dean –”

Dean swallowed, too aware of Cas’ blue eyes watching him closely. He broke himself free of the grip on his shoulder, turning around with a half-laugh, embarrassed by his outbreak, “Look at us. A few minutes ago we wanted to kill each other and now I’m acting like I’m on Dr. Phil.”

Cas frowned. He could only begin to understand how many walls Dean must’ve built to protect himself and those he loved. Humour only being one of them. It wasn’t fair. Suddenly, Cas felt a fierce need to protect this man from anything bad ever happening to him again; to make sure he’d be able to live a life of love and laughter.

“There is no shame in talking about your feelings,” Cas said carefully, looking at Dean’s back. “The truth will set you free.”

The other man didn’t reply, opting to drink the last of his beer and placing it at on the table. Eventually he mumbled, while looking at Cas with ancient sadness reflected in his eyes, “Not in this case.”

Without waiting for an answer, he walked towards the door. Knocking his knuckles on the frame as a form of goodbye he said, “Thanks for the beer, Cas. See you tomorrow” and left Castiel standing in the middle of the room.

*

Outside, Dean pulled out his car keys from his pocket. He couldn’t go back to his room and face Sam just yet. Talking to Cas like that, opening up, even just a little, left him shaking. He felt like an exposed nerve, raw and hurting. Didn’t help that Cas smelled like heaven and possessed the empathy of a saint. Or that the adrenaline from his earlier fight was still pumping through his veins.

Dean lay down in the backseat with a grunt, throwing his arm over his eyes to block out the light from the parking lot. He took a deep breath, trying to calm down by letting the familiar scent of Baby, a mixture of leather and oil and Sammy and himself, wash over him, but all it did was remind him of a freshly showered Cas smelling like shower gel and sun warmed earth.

Lying in the back of the car, the one place he actually felt safe, he couldn’t help but let his thoughts drift to Cas. If Sam only knew how far his strange and sudden fixation and infatuation with the other man went, he’d never let him live it down. After days of watching him from afar, he finally had a personality (a pretty great one if his first impression didn’t deceive him and it rarely did) to match the handsome face and apparently equally handsome body. Heat flooded his blood as he imagined holding Cas’ face in place to kiss him open-mouthed and wet, feeling his stubble scratching Dean’s face, trailing down to lick and bite at his skin, putting his mouth everywhere he could reach, his neck, his pecs, his hip bones. Dean’s blood pulsed in his groin, screaming for attention. _God, it’s been too fucking long_ , was his last coherent thought.

Hastily, he unbuckled his belt and pushed down his jeans and briefs to curl his hand around his dick. He moaned at the intial pressure, the cold that hit him. Touching himself made him wonder what touching Cas would feel like. Dancing his fingertips over Cas’ strong thighs, pushing them apart, hearing him gasp, feeling him shudder. Fucking hell, how wonderful would his scent be? Right between his legs; if Dean could nose along his inner thigh, his pelvis, his cock. How amazing would he taste? Hard and already leaking against Dean’s tongue, a taste completely unique. And how would he sound like? Moaning with that gravelly voice, chanting Dean’s name like a prayer until he’d come.

His hand moved at a steady pace, applying the right amount of pressure to imagines of sucking Cas off;  getting to hear his heart beat fast as he shoved his fingers through Dean’s hair, to hear him beg as Dean kissed down further south to push his tongue flat against his hole, while Cas thighs bracketed him, wanting him to stay, licking into him to smell his scent eloping him, his blood skyrocketing until he came screaming Dean’s name.

His back bowed, one hand nearly ripping his hair out, the other pumping hard, Dean howled as his orgasm hit him. Howling, with the hunger of a starved wolf, as if to beckon the almighty Moon Presence itself to deliver him the person he desired. He twitched as he spurted into his hand and against his belly. The wolf in him whined aloud, unhappy that it was all just a fantasy, urging him to make it a reality.

Taking some deep calming breaths, he cleaned his hand on his already soiled shirt. Dean could feel his limps getting heavy and his eyes closing on their own accord, his strength finally leaving him. His last act was to pull up his jeans before he curled up on his side to fall asleep by himself.

He woke up to Sam rapping his knuckles on the car window, mouthing, “Dude, what the hell?” Groaning and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he turned around to sit up in the small space, gesturing to Sam that he was coming. Sam shrugged and turned around, walking back to the room in long strides. No way would Dean follow with a cumstained shirt.

Shortly after he’d joined Sam, informed him of their newly formed partnership in a very superficial way and had taken a shower (again), someone knocked on their door. When Sam opened it, it revealed Cas, holding a tray with cups of coffe in one hand and a paper bag in the other.

As Cas entered, he couldnt’t help but smile at Sam’s open and friendly “Good morning” while replying with the same sentiment. Walking further into the room, his brother sitting at the table browsing on a tablet was displayed. Seeing Dean, Cas couldn’t help but smile wider.

“Hello, Dean,” he greeted while putting the food and the coffee right in front of him. He was rewarded with a sigh and a crooked grin as Dean inhaled the freshly baked goods.

“Thanks, man. Working with you,” he pointed at Cas, “best decision ever.” Still smiling, Cas sat down opposite from him, taking a cup, while Dean started digging around for food. Bemused, Cas watched him take a doughnut with childish glee.

“Well, I’m glad to know how to get on your good side.”

Taking a bite, Dean answered, between chewing and gulping, “What can I say? I’m a simple man with simple needs.”

“You’re anything but simple, Dean,” Cas said in the most gentle tone. Dean stared at him for a moment, before he shrugged the comment away and took another bite. Both of them seemed unaware of Sam’s wrinkled forehead and scrutinizing stare. Sam cleared his throat to get their attention as he sat down.

“So I was thinking, we should take another look at the manor during the day. See if we can find a lead or something,” he said, taking a coffee, sipping from it, and then taking a bagel. 

Castiel, nursing his own beverage, answered, “Sam’s right. I also need to get my car,” then turned to the other brother, “What did you do to that werewolf, Dean?”

Green eyes looked up from their food guiltily, chewing slowly, trying to stall the inevitable answer.  

“Got away.”

Sam seemed to be just as surprised as Cas and was the first to show it, asking in an incredulous voice, “Got away? You mean you didn’t gank him? What happened, man?”

Annoyance rippled through Dean’s body. His appetite lost because of his brother’s accusing tone, he put down his second doughnut, stating with a mouth half-full (just to be nasty and annoying in return), “What do you want me to say? He ran before I could rip his throat out.”

“Dean, that’s –,” Sam started to say, but Cas interrupted him by holding his hand up. “It’s of no importance now. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. How about we exchange information about the case first and head back to the house later?”

Dean pointedly looked at Sam before he exclaimed, “Fine by me.” He smirked at Sam’s eyeroll.

“Let me get my notes,” Cas said, amused by the brother’s quarrel.

When Cas came back into the room, carrying his bag and a stack of notes, conversation stopped abruptly, both heads turned to look at him standing in the doorway, before Dean coughed and looked at his tablet and Sam threw away the trash littering the table. He merely raised an eyebrow at the strange display and unloaded his stuff on the small round table, where Sam and Dean’s notes already lay.

He began talking about his progress.

It was Sam who went on, “Like you, we came here because we’d read about Trevor Conroy’s death and it looked, to us, like a werewolf attack. Talked to the family and friends, first, about what happened. After that to the local authorities. Guess how surprised we were when they told us some other FBI Agent had asked the same questions.”

Dean leaned back in his chair with a strange expression.

“Guess what another surprise was,” he added.  

Castiel didn’t need to think twice, “The werewolf in the woods.” 

“Yahtzee,” Dean smirked and went on, “I picked up your scent and when, uh –,” he stopped, blushing at the way Cas’ smiled, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“It’s perfectly normal, you know. Anyway, when we went to the diner that evening I recognised it, so we, uh, we started following you. Good thing we did,” he concluded with a nod towards Cas’ injury.

Pinching his nose, Cas admitted, “It was stupid. I – I let my guard down.”

In an effort to cover the awkwardness of his mistake, he spread his pictures and notes on the table with a tight line of anger on his lips. It took a moment for him to see the look on Sam’s face. Annoyed by being judged, Cas crossed his arms and frowned. “What?”

It was Dean, who answered to placate the other man.

“How come Bobby doesn’t know you? He’d be thrilled,” he said with a disbelieving shake of his head.

Sam joined, “Yeah, this is some solid research. But we’re as confused as you are. These murders don’t add up. We thought something in the manor would point us in the right direction as to what the fuck is going on here. Honestly, it doesn’t make sense.”

“We thought this was some Godfather bullshit between two rival packs or – or that you were involved in this somehow. Some cuckoo mofo killing without rhyme or reason,” Dean declared while twirling his fingers next to his head.

“I’m afraid I don’t know a Bobby. Or any other hunters, except my relatives,” Cas sighed. He felt an uncomfortable pull at his side, a twinge from the wound and let his hands caress it in slow circles, lost in his thoughts for a second while Dean and Sam looked at his notes. He was pulled out of his musing by Sam, who stood up and shook his long hair out of his eyes.

“Well, let’s see what we can find in that manor. It’s the only thing none of us have investigated yet. Maybe we’ll find something that’ll warrant another talk with Ranger Griffin or Sheriff Garcia.”

Dean turned to Cas, raising his eyebrows in inquiry and smiled when Cas nodded.

“I’m very interested in talking to Griffin. He has somehow avoided me. And Garcia told me that she offered to find out who the manor belonged to,” Cas said.

Sam answered, “Yeah, I remember.”  

“Awesome, let’s go,” Dean beamed, clapping his hands together, standing up to put on his woolen winter coat he loved so much, followed by the other two.    

*

By day, the old manor looked more abandoned than by night, amplified by the broken window and the unkempt wilderness growing around it. Big and empty, silent in its slow decay, alone in the greens and browns and whites of the winter woods. Dean and Sam were about to enter the manor, while Cas lingered with his hands in his pockets and watched the trapes fluttering in the wind, remembering the night before, the fear that gripped him and Dean –.

“Cas, you’re coming?” the man’s voice called out.

Feeling embarrassment flaring hotly inside of him, he hurried to follow, ignoring Dean’s smug face as he walked towards the entrance. They decided to split up, sure that nothing could surprise them after last night. Inside, the damage was even worse: broken furniture, bend frames, blood. Cas tried to ignore the visible signs of battle and the tight feeling in his gut that this had been his fault and started digging around. Someone had tried to protect this estate. Taking a closer look showed that the inside wasn’t as abandoned as the outside: There was dust, but not enough; the undamaged furniture was stable and reasonably clean; the décor minimalisitic, but homey.

Between the wreckage in the living room Cas found what he was looking for – a photograph of a family smiling into the camera; grandmother, grandfather, a pregnant woman and a man. His instincts told him something about this picture was important. While he studied it, holding it gently between his fingers, Dean appeared next to him.

“Found anything?”

Cas looked up to see Dean’s eyes flicking between him and the photograph before directing his gaze back the picture.

“I belive so, yes,” Cas answered, “I can’t put my finger on it, though.”

In that second the penny dropped and Cas’ heart began to beat faster, the blood rushing through his skull left a dull pounding in his ears.

“Dean, look! The man with the short khaki pants.”

Cas pointed at the guy, then at the thing that had caught his eye – the tattoo on his calf.

“Do you see this? The body in the woods had the same tattoo. I think this is our mysterious werewolf and if this is his family… then the one last night could be anyone in this picture,” Castiel said.

He had to take step closer to Cas to take a closer look at the picture. He didn’t mind his hand brushing Cas’ side or his nose nearly burying itself in Cas’ hair or the heat of the other’s body. Cas seemed to have that effect on him. Biting his tongue, he focused back on the evidence.

“Well, this is just fuckin’ awesome. A family of werewolves on a murder spree and still no clue what brought it on. If they’ve lived here for decades, controlling themselves, why go mental now? Why maybe even kill each other,” Dean whispered roughly, suddenly angry at the case, at how close it hit home to his own fears. Cas must have heard something in his voice, as he turned around and regarded Dean with empathy.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas murmered. Dean’s eyes searched Cas’ face, a confused line between his brows.

“What are you sorry for?” he asked.

“That you know. That you are forced to carry that burden, too.”

They stared at each other, neither saying another word. It wasn’t needed. Dean could feel the crackling potential in the air between them, could see Cas’ eyes mirroring care and genuine sympathy, as if he wanted to rip that curse out of Dean himself. Dean could feel warmth blooming in his cheeks, could see Cas following Dean’s tongue licking his lips.

“No need, Cas. I’ve learned to live with it,” Dean whispered, entranced by the blue in Cas’ eyes. Who had eyes like that?

The answer came immediately and fiercly.

“Doesn’t mean you should have to.”

Dean didn’t know what else to say in the face of such honesty from someone whom he had known for two days. Sam interrupted the moment by hollering from deeper inside the house, “Guys, I think I found something!”

Dean took a deep breath and a step back, indicating with his head towards his brother’s voice. Cas pocketed the photo and nodded with a little smile adorning his face. Goddamnit, why did he have to make it harder for Dean to keep his distance?

“Sammy? Where are you?” Dean screamed back, walking into the hallway, looking around while Cas followed at his heels.

“Basement! Left door behind the stairs!”

They followed Sam’s instructions and found themselves in a cozy cellar: couch, bookshelves and all that, except for the fact that one of the walls was bare and chains were linked to the wall. Sam stood in front of a big freezer, peering with a troubled face into it, the light illuminated his features.

“Take a look.”

Dean and Cas came to stand next to Sam and discovered what he meant: hearts, in different shapes and sizes. Dean took one plastic bag, grinning.

“You think this is from Fatty McFaterson?”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up, Cas turned to him, unamused.

“No. It’s is too big to be a human’s. This must be from a cow.”

Dean’s grin vanished. Poutily he said, “Man, you two are no fun.” And put the heart back.

They stood in silence for a few seconds, each lost in their own thoughts and assumptions before Dean shook himself out of his contemplations. He wandered around the room, inspecting the couch, the few cupboards and finally the chain on the walls by squatting down, letting them slip through his fingers. The cool touch of the metal left an unpleasant tingling. Confused he rubbed them against his fingers until he realised that the unpleasantness had to stem from silver worked into it.

“Huh, interestin’,” he muttered to himself, unaware that Castiel stood right behind him.

“What is it, Dean?”

Startled he turned around and fell flat on his ass, looking up at Cas with unguarded annoyance in his eyes.

“Damn it, Cas, don’t be creepy,” he complained, but took Castiel’s offered helping hand, surprised at how warm it was. “You can let go now,” he harrumphed and watched as Cas hastily retreated his hand back into his coat pocket, a frown and a blush forming on his cheeks.

“You hunt ghosts and monsters, but think I’m creepy?”

Dean was stunned at the sarcasm.

“Whatever,” he answered, turning around to the chains, “looks like they really tried to control themselves. These chains are infused with silver. And then the animal hearts in the freezer. I think they tried to stay clean.”

While Cas sat down to look at the chains, too, Sam walked over, saying, “If that’s the case, then what the hell happened that they went feral?”

Dean, remembering the photo, said, “Cas found a picture upstairs. Probably the family who comes here every full moon. One of the guys in it is the corpse from the woods. I think it’s time to ask the Sheriff who this house belongs to and pay them a visit. You in, Cas?”

Castiel stood up with a thoughtful expression on his face. A lead, finally.

“Of course, I’m coming with you,” he decided, looking at Dean with a small smile.

Dean’s heart definitely didn’t stutter. Nope, no way. It couldn’t, shouldn’t. He met Castiel yesterday, or rather, got to know him and just because the animal part of him was already on board with bonding with this stranger, didn’t mean that Dean was ready to do it. No matter how secure he felt in his presence, how calming it was. Trying to escape his own thoughts, Dean started to ascend the stairs. He could hear Sam and Cas following him, their steps echoeing in the silence, the wood creaking underneath their boots until they left the building. It hadn’t occurred to Dean before, but standing outside for a few moments, he realised how silent the woods surrounding the estate were – no rustling in the underbrush, no birds, just the steady howling of the wind and the softly falling snow. The local wildlife knew that a far better predator prowled in these woods. It would be a beautiful, peaceful house if it weren’t for the monsters that inhabitated it.

Dean watched as Cas left the building, hands in his pockets, a solemn expression on his face. Once again, like the first time he’d seen him, Dean was struck by how handsome the other man was.

He must have spaced out because Cas smirked at him as he approached, probably having realised that Dean had stared at him. Sam tipped something on his phone and ignored them, maybe even deliberately.

The ride to the station was mostly silent. Dean was driving quietly, thinking about the family, about Trevor Conroy, about his own journey. _It’s scary_ , he thought, how easy it was to go of the rails, to lose the sense of oneself. He remembers his first turn in bursts of pain and fear. It was the latter, which had kept him sane through it, which had made him lock himself up in Bobby’s bunker. Fear for his family, fear of killing innocent people, fear of becoming something else. And yes, it’d been hard afterwards. But never, ever could he imagine giving in to the urges, to simply stop fighting. When he’d driven with Sam to Maine, when Sam had given him the promise of a future, Dean had asked him to do only one thing, in case, one day, he’d turn and not remember his humanity. One thing, the rest was meaningless.

His thoughts came to a halt as Dean approached the station and parked the Impala. Cas, back in his own car, close behind them. Sheriff Garcia was surprised to see all three of them together, if her raised eyebrow and questioning stare was any indication.

“Gentlemen?” she greeted them. “I take it you sorted out your misunderstanding?”  

Castiel, sensing that this could go sideways, was the one to take a step forward and said, “Yes, thank you. We found something that could be a potential lead.”

The Sheriff watched with curiosity as Cas pulled out the photograph. Seeing that Cas wanted to show her a picture, she put on her glasses and examined the so-called evidence.

“Any idea who that is?” Sam asked. Garcia shook her head.

“We think we know. We’d like to take you up on that offer of finding the owners of the house.”

“Will do,” she said and took her glasses off again. “I’ll contact you tomorrow, with details. ”

“Thank you,” Dean smiled professionally, ready to go.    

*

Since the Sheriff had promised to contact them nothing else was left to do, especially since the light slowly started to vanish, painting the world in its white and black contrast once again.

Dean’s finger drummed against the steering wheel, nervous energy being discharged, enhanced by his animalistic side clawing at his inside. This part of him, the part he hated for the longest time, before he learned to accept it, wanted to turn, to run into the woods, to the old house to find traces of the attacker from last night and hunt them down to make sure they paid for hurting innocent people, for hurting Cas.

He glanced into the rearview mirror, observing Cas in his pickup. He couldn’t even see him properly, but just his imagine made Dean’s heart beat faster. Another nervousness befell Dean the moment he realised how gone he was on the other man and were his thoughts led him. They had nothing else to do after all. What if- it had been a while and Cas was – Cas. Smart, capable, empathetic, sarcastic, sexy. His decision already made, the nervous energy doubled and had his heart drumming, his breath labouring. Trying to get it under control and failing, Dean followed the road while his mind made up conversations and ice breakers. Eventually he pulled into the parking lot, shutting off the car.

Sam opened his door, ready call it a day, expecting Dean to do the same, if his body language was any indication at all with his eyebrows raised.

“I’ll, ah, see you later,” Dean said, blushing and hoping his brother couldn’t see it. But Sam, attuned to his brother, coughed, bid him good night and left in a hurry. Steeling himself, Dean leaned against Baby and waited for Cas to park and exit his car before he walked over to Dean. God he really was handsome.

“I guess this is Good –,” Cas started saying, before he was interrupted by Dean asking, heart in his throat, “Do you have any plans for tonight?” His voice definitely hadn’t been high and scratchy while he’d said it. Afraid to face Cas and therefore face any kind of rejection, his eyes followed Sam’s retreating form into the room and him turning on the lights.

“Dean?” The question in Cas’ voice made him turn around and face the other man. Instead of rejection, he saw confusion and fondness in the two blue depths.

“I was thinking of reading and trying to access the town archive. I’m guessing you have something else in mind?”

“Yeah, um, wanna grab a beer? Or burger? Uh, or both?” Dean smiled lopsided, while a horde of elephants did summersaults on his chest, one sweaty palm balled into a fist, the other playing with his mother’s ring.

Cas eyes widened and a breathless “oh” left his lips. Simultaneously Dean’s smile faded. Alarm bells rung in his bead, a big red sign with abort appearing before his inner eye.

“You know, because it’s late and we haven’t really eaten anything and and –,” he stammered. _Shit._ Usually he had no problen improvising and finding a way out of an unfortunate situation, but Cas’ head tilted sideways and his face transformed into this adorable confused puppy expression, which made it so much harder. His own eyes must have panic written all over them.

“Dean, I’m not good with social interactions and I’m, ah, getting mixed signals here. Did you ask me out on a date or was your question merely meant as a way to form a friendly bond?” Cas asked with brutal honesty.

Still uncomfortable and still trying to salvage the wreckage, Dean procured a wobbly smile, said, “Both?” It was followed by a shrug. He thought, _I’m out of my depth here, too, man_. It had been ages since he last had had sex and even longer since he’d dated. But Cas, the angel that he was, openly smiled at him, showing a shiny row of perfect teeth, and said with a twinkle in his eyes, “May I ride shotgun on the way to this friendly romantic date?”

“Yeah, of course, Cas,” Dean may or not may have answered a bit breathlessly. He couldn’t be blamed if Cas shoved his awesomeness in a man’s face.

Each man sat down, the car groaning in approval as Dean liked to imagine, put it into drive and thanked every God, every entity there was for the opportunity. It didn’t help with his jittery nerves or the small part of his brain telling him he was making a mistake, but he didn’t want to listen to it. For once in his life he wanted something good, something positive he could cling to.  

Castiel burst into his thoughts, asking, “So, where are we going?”

“Diner on the other end of town. They’ve got the best burgers in town, if you ask me. Super delicious petties. ‘S that ok with you?”

“You mentioned that you like meat. I’m going to trust your judgement. I’ve got a - ahh strange relationship with food so to speak. Especially meat,” he said, squinting at something in the distance. Confused, Dean glanced over at him.

Carefully he acknowledged, “Dude, how? I mean, eating after a long day of hunting? One of the best things in the world. The feeling of biting into a juicy burger, soaking some fries in ketchup, hmm.”

His mouth watered in excitement. Eating may not be everyone’s favourite hobby or something special to them, but it would always be to Dean, after the life he’s lead. It was hard for him to understand how some couldn’t treasure it. Granted, he didn’t know what Cas’ deal was or why he had this strange relationship with food. As he turned around to ask the other man, Dean saw that the squinty eyes were regarding him now. Cas looked like he was assessing something.

“Are you talking about food or sex?”

Dean nearly choked on his spit, holding onto the steering wheel with a curse. Cas raised an eyebrow.

“I’m just saying. I noticed that you like to use certain expressions as euphemisms.”

“Jesus fuck, Cas. I was talking about actual food. Were you?” A bit panicked Dean turned to Cas, trying to read something in his face. A small smile played around his lips as he said, “I guess that’s for you to find out, Dean Winchester.”

Dean bit his lip and swallowed, hoping that the darkness would conceal the blush he could feel rising up his neck and face.

Not long and Dean parked Baby far away from the entrance of the diner to make sure no asshole would harm her. Once they were seated and had ordered their drinks, the lulled conversation picked up again as Cas, after taking a sip from his beer, mustered Dean and noticed his stiff posture as he read the menu.

“Calm down, Dean. If I weren’t interested in you, I wouldn’t have agreed,” Cas outright stated, leaning over the table.

Dean’s face immediately heated up, making his freckles all the more visible. Cas thought it was adorable but didn’t say so. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be appreciated. Dean put the menu away. Embarassed, he caressed his hands over his face, then looked up at Cas.

“Cas, you- don’t, Jesus, you can’t just say stuff like that.”

Ah, yes, people and their fears and ideas of appropriateness. Sighing, Cas leaned back.

“Why not? It’s the truth. I think you’re very interesting. Caring. Attractive,” he listed and continued, “In, ah, multiple ways. We might not see each other again, even though I think that would be a shame, so why lie to each other? Why lie to anyone anyway?”

Dean, taken aback by the honesty once again, shook his head, processing what Cas had said. Leaning forward, he replied, “Dude, you’re a hunter. Lying is what we do half of the time.”

“Yes, but it’s a necessasity to keep people safe. Doesn’t mean I approve of it in my private life. Or like doing it,” Cas responded and once again leaned forward. Their heads close to each other, his eyes boring into Dean’s.

“I think sometimes we have to lie to those close to us to protect them, too,” Dean whispered, eyes dancing between Castiel’s blue ones, too close to focus on his whole face.

They both startled apart as their waitress approached with a smile to take their orders. Once she left, Dean turned to Cas. The earlier tension was still there, only more subdued. Underneath the table Dean stretched his legs, brushing them against Cas’. It earned him a small smile and encouraged him to ask, “So, Cas. What happened? I mean, why did you leave your family behind?”

Cas face turned into a pained expression, legs tensing. For a moment Dean thought he’d overstepped his boundaries, that Cas wouldn’t answer.

“I wish I could say that my relationship with my siblings is as loving as yours, but my family isn’t the loving type. I can see how much Sam means to you, how much you mean to him. I envy that,” a small smile stole itself on Cas’ features.

“My family has always put duty before love and expectations before freedom. The moment you are born into this family, you become a ‘guardian’ as they like to call it. Just a fancier word for hunter. Same thing,” Cas sneered with a condescending gesture. He took another sip from the bottle.

“You’re trained to be one, you’re told to be one and that’s that. No questioning orders, no falling out of line and most of all no questioning “God’s plan”. Imagine: a family clan of religious fanatics who know about the supernatural and decide to dedicate their life to eliminating everything that is unholy and sinful in their eyes,” Cas interrupted his rant, flushed with anger, and tried to compose himself when he saw the expression on Dean’s face.

“The older I got, the more I hated what they stood for. Even more when I realised that I liked - meat,” he joked, happy that it worked, to see Dean grin from mouth to eyes.

“During my adolescene, I ran away a lot, but either they found me or the police did. After, ah, my rebellious youth, they kept a close eye on me. They sent me to the same University as my siblings – to monitor me. They were, maybe still are, on the board and great benefactors. It was like prison.”

Their waitress came back with their food, setting it down in front of them with a wink and a smile, which got none in return and left once again.

“Even when I started openly dating other men, they wouldn’t let me go. Disapproved, punished me, yes, but they had me abiding by their rules. As soon as I was legally an adult, I ran. I ran as far away as I could and never looked back.

“You know what the worst part is? Even though they treated me like shit, I still miss them sometimes. Especially my brothers and sisiters.”

Cas took a large sip from his beer, wetting his throat after talking for such a long time, about his childhood and early adulthood and looked out the window, before he concluded, “There you have it.”

Turning around, still not able to look at Dean, he bit into his burger. Dean hadn’t even started yet, too engrossed in Castiel’s story and in Cas himself – his frown, his relaxed composure, his wildly beating heart, his courage, his life. How at its core, Cas’ story resembled his own so much.

“Why’d you stay a hunter after everything they put you through?” Dean eventually asked, taking a bite himself.

“Out of spite? To prove to myself that I could do better than them? Because I am basically on the run and in no position to take a normal job?” Cas smiled. “Because it feels good to help people?”

Dean could understand this as well.

“Enough of myself, now. I believe you are much more intersting.”

Dean nearly choked on his next bite, but retorded sarcastically, “Keep talking like that and you might get lucky.”

He regretted it immeadiately. He’d said it without thinking, simply out of habit. He couldn’t handle compliments well. But Cas only grinned, no offense taken, watching him from lowered lashes.

“I mean it, Dean. Tell me about Sam, about your training in Maine, your car, your favorite music.”

Another bite, slowly chewed. Dean took a fry, occupying himself with eating to gather his thoughts and weight how much he could tell the other man.

“I told you ‘bout how my dad became a hunter after my mother died. Raised us the best he could, in his opinion. After he found out about the supernatural, he, ahh, he went on this crazy crusade, trying to find the thing that had killed mom, practically turning my brother and me into soldiers.

“Don’t get me wrong, I respected him, even loved him on some days. He was family, but you know,” he made a vague gesture.

“Doesn’t matter. I was lucky I had Bobby and Sam. I probably would have – back then I – it’s actually pretty useful, except for the times I’m itching to change and chase some game in the woods, you know, but shit – I don’t know where I’m going with this,” Dean rambled, rubbing his neck. He took two big bites of his burger, not in the habit of wasting food just because he couldn’t control his big mouth.

Cas sensed his struggle and offered an out, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry, Dean. So, who is this Bobby? Earlier today you mentioned him, too.”

Happy that the focus of the conversation changed, Dean took the chance to tell Castiel about Bobby – about the grumpy façade with the heart of gold underneath; about how reliable Bobby was; how he’d practically raised Sam and Dean for a large part of their life; how he helped whenever he could and in a small voice how he had accepted Dean’s condition without second thought.

“Don’t know what I’ll do if he ever croaks,” Dean wondered, eating the last of his food.

“Keep living, I suppose,” Cas answered.

Dean shrugged. For a while, they stayed silent. Until their waitress came back, cleared the table and asked for additional drinks and dessert. Sporting a big grin, Dean ordered pie, Cas watching his childlish excitement, couldn’t help but grin in answer.   

Couraged, Dean picked the conversation up again, “Sam tried to run, too, ya know. Just a different kind. He, um, studied at Stanford, full scholarship an’ all that. I dragged him into it again after dad died, to finish what he started and waste the bastard that killed mom.”

“Did you get him? Did you finish it?”

Dean turned back around, taking a swing from the bottle, nodding.

“Ah, yep. A demon. Can you imagine? But yeah, we did and as you can see, we stayed in the business.”

Dean didn’t elaborate further on why Sam had stayed and Cas didn’t dare to ask.

“The car was dad’s, but I’ll be damned if it hasn’t felt like my baby since he handed me the keys. Man, I love her.”

His eyes pivoted to the Impala parked outside, affection from years of happy memories reflected in his eyes.

“Do I need to be jealous?” Cas asked seriously. It earned him a loud, happy laugh from Dean. He was proud at that.

Long after their food was empty, they sat and talked and talked (about music and books and movies), until Dean looked at his watch with a yawn and asked whether they should head back to the motel. The ride back was filled with comfortable silence and sidelong glances. Cas resisted the urge to hold Dean’s hand, to close the gap between them.

Soon enough the familiar sign of the motel greeted them. Dean parked the car and turned to Cas.   

“So this is it, um. Good night, Cas.”

“Thank you, Dean. I really enjoyed myself,” Cas said while catching Dean’s eyes. The air between them was charged, the tension almost visible. Dean’s eyes were heavy with exhaustion and something else, his tongue shortly appeared to wet his lips. Before he could think twice about it, Cas leaned over and softly placed his lips against the apple of Dean’s cheek. He lingered. Only miliseconds, smelling Dean’s aftershave, feeling his stubble. Drawing back, he saw that Dean’s eyes had apparently fluttered close. He opened them to watch Cas lean back into his seat.

“Hell, you -,” Dean whispered throatily.

His left hand lifted by its own accord to caress Cas’ cheek with his finger tips, his head leaning foward, he desperately whispered, “Cas.”  

Cas shivered from the gravel in Dean’s voice. Entranced he watched him tilting his face until he was able to drag his nose along Cas’ carefully, his shallow breath brushed hotly against Cas’ lips like the lightest touch, his eyes focused on them, too. Ending both their suffering, Cas closed the distance and captured Dean’s lips with slow pressure. A long sigh escaped through Dean’s nose, his hand grabbing Cas face. Cas fisted his own hands into Dean’s jacket to keep him close as he unhurriedly moved his lips. Dean caught on and together they moved in unison, changing between nipping, sucking and sliding heated and wet lips against each other. Minutes went by. Blood rushing to Cas’ head created a static sound, blood  rushing to his groin created a pulsing sensation, his dick, half-hard, strained against his jeans. Sweat began to form beneath his coat and winter clothes, the heat becoming unbearable. They needed to change locations, fast.

Taking a deep breath, Cas entangled himself by giving Dean a last peck, loosened his hands and slowly sat back with a whispered, “Dean.”

Embarassed, he averted his eyes when he realised how longily he’d said it, but didn’t mind when he saw from lowered eyelids how Dean followed him before realising that Cas wanted to stop. Smiling, Cas exited the car, heard Dean’s confused, “What the -?” And went to the driver’s side. He opened the door to see Dean’s flushed, confused face, his lips cherry red from kissing. Another shot of arousal raced through his system. He took Dean’s hand and was pleased when Dean let himself be dragged away without hesitation.

“Remember to lock the car,” he reminded Dean, who did so instantly.

The light in Sam’s room was still on, Cas noticed, as well as Dean not letting go, as he lead them past it. Dean’s hand was warm, despite the cold outside and him not wearing gloves. He could practically feel the tension radiating from the other man and started drawing small circles with his thumb, trying to calm him, while opening his door with his unoccupied hand.

Once inside the doorway, he didn’t turn on the light, but instead turned to Dean and recaptured his lips, pushing his body against Dean’s to show him his intentions – the bulge in his pants a clear sign. If Dean wanted to go, then this was his chance. Cas could feel the other man’s arousal, but it didn’t mean anything if Dean didn’t trust him or decided to stop last minute.

This time it was Dean who stopped the kissing, framing Cas’ face with his hands, locking eyes with him, saying, “Stop thinking, Cas.”

He took the last step into the door and let it fall close with a kick. Dean’s face, half illuminated from the moonlight shining from outside through the window, was relaxed, expectant, beautiful. This caring, sacrificing, loving man didn’t deserve the shit the world threw at him. No, he deserved happiness and love and care and –

“Dean, what do you want?” Cas asked, a bit desperate, a bit wide eyed.

There was silence. Staring. Dean’s thumbs caressing his face.

“From you?” Dean mumbled. Cas nodded. Dean averted his eyes, his hands left Cas’ face, flexing at his sides. For a moment, Cas thought Dean would leave after all, but then he kept murmuring, “Fuck, I – Cas. I really wanna say anything you’re willing to give, but that ain’t the truth.”

Gently he let his forehead touch Cas’, closing his eyes.

“Can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

“Not making you do anything, Dean,” Cas huffed amused.

“Shut up, Cas,” Dean grinned and kissed his way across Castiel’s cheek, his hands holding him tight by the waist, bodies sharing heat.

His mouth travelled to the shell of Cas’ ear, where he lingered, and eventually whispered, “I want to taste you. Smell you. Feel you. I want to remember you. Every part of you.”

Warmth spread through Cas’ body at these words. He knew, _he knew_ with certainty that never seeing Dean again after this case would make his life miserable. But that was a conversation for later.

For now, Cas raised his hands to Dean’s shoulders, sliding them beneath the jacket to undress him. Smiling, he kissed Dean once again, happily opening his mouth for the probing tongue, moaning at the sensual way they moved.

With careful steps he manouvered them to the bed. A path of clothes trailed after them. Hands reverently explored exposed skin, until Cas, nearly naked, felt his legs hitting the bed. Dean, in the same state of undress, detached himself from Cas’ lips.

Watching Cas’ every reaction, Dean revelled in the way he held his breath as he went down to his knees. He didn’t break eye contact until he’d pushed down Cas’ briefs. Cas must have felt him holding back, because as Dean sat before him with closed eyes, savouring his smell, one of Cas’ hands buried itself in his hair and stroked through it with slow, even movements. Dean gripped the other’s thighs, anchoring himself. _Cas had offered_ , he told himself, gathering courage. Leaning foward, he let his nose lightly trace over the vulnerable skin of his inner thigh, teasing with little nips as an afterimage. Cas’ laboured breath was music to his ears, his scent better than any perfum.

Using his strength, he carefully grabbed Cas around his hip and thigh and lowered him onto the bed. Hastily, he pushed down his own briefs, while Cas drank in the sight of him, and lowered himself to lie between Cas’ angled legs. Dean was hyperaware of Cas’ eyes following his every move, of Cas’ every reaction and was pleased to be the center of attention, the cause of his dishevelled state. His mouth found Cas’ thigh again, kissing, sucking towards his dick until eventually he reached his destination – and _damn_ , Cas really tasted incredible. Eyes closed in bliss and concentration, the moans from above encouraged him even more to hold those strong thighs apart, to suck leisurely, while Cas’ taste exploded on his tongue.    

“Dean, stop, _stop_ ,” Cas begged after a while, the hand in Dean’s hair pushing lightly.

He obeyed, immediately, pushing himself onto his knees with heavy breaths and a racing heart. He mustered the man beneath him, wiping a hand across his chin and mouth. Nothing appeared to be wrong, quite the opposite: Cas had one hand fisted in the blanket above him, the other had fallen from Dean’s hair onto the matress, his blue eyes glowing in the semi-darkness.  

“What about you, Dean?” he panted, then sat up to be eye to eye with him. Dean’s chest constricted and his heart stuttered like a newborn bird at those words. He pushed Cas back down, following him, whispering, “I’m good. Great actually. Haven’t felt like this in –” _ever_ , he thought, “ages,” he said, claiming Cas’ mouth, rubbing their erections together lazily.

Dean wasn’t used to this. Normally sex was just that – sex. Fast, anonymous, trading pleasure, leaving. This slow pace was driving him crazy. He loved it. He loved how Cas made him feel cherished. Unused to the happiness that spread like lightning through his body he channelled the energy by kissing a path over Cas’ light stubble, down to his neck (Dean loved how it made Cas’ breath hitch), where he, involuntarily, nuzzled against, breathing in his scent, like the animal part of him wanted since they very beginning.

Dean could feel a laugh rumbling out of Cas. He raised his head to shoot him a look of confusion. Cas calmed down and asked with a grin, “Are you marking me, Dean?”

Embarassed and scandalised, he growled a ‘no’, while lifting away from Cas’ warmth onto his forearms, hovering above him. Which Cas only saw as an invitation to caress his face, thumb tracing Dean’s upper lip, pushing in a bit to trace his slightly pointed canines.

“Because I wouldn’t mind.”

God-fucking-damnit. Cas’ eyes bored into him, no stutter in his heartbeat. He actually meant what he said. Heat crawled up Dean’s face. A second time in mere minutes he got embarrassed. Groaning, he hid his face in Cas’ neck and listened to his quiet laughter. His laugh was joyous and no matter how hard Dean tried to be mad, the sound made a big smile appear on his face.

Deciding to humor Cas, he said, deadpan, “Woof woof, motherfucker.”

Hearing Castiel laugh harder, he just had to join in.

They took a few seconds to calm down. Lying on top of Cas, huffing out his last laugh, Cas’ hand scratching his skull, he felt content. The wolf in him was in a state of tranquillity Dean wasn’t used to. Sated and happy to be with Cas. He could fall asleep like that or continue where they’d left off. He liked having that option. Feeling Cas’ hardness against his hip really took the decision out of his hands, though.  

“Cas?” he whispered.

“Yes, Dean?”

“Prep me, will ya?”

A kiss was placed on the crown of his head.

“With pleasure, love,” Cas said and entangled himself to get up and ruffled through his bag.

Dean, struck by the ‘love’, stared at his bare ass and strong back and thought that he would let Castiel go if the other man wished so, but damn if he wouldn’t do everything in his powers to keep him close.

Coming back, Cas asked, “How do you want to do this?”

Dean watched Cas kneel on the bed, crawling towards him and said without second thought, “Wanna see you. Then I wanna ride you.”

Castiel’s hot, furious mouth caught his own and with a moan he closed his eyes, yet opened his legs and entwined his arms around Cas’ neck, anchoring himself at the first intial nudge of a finger. His lungs constricted at the air being robbed from him, at the slow sensual pace with which Cas moved his lube-smeared fingers just right to drive sparks up his spine, his mouth exploring Dean’s body while he prepared him with teasing strokes and patience. A patience Dean didn’t possess. Having enough, knowing and feeling that he was ready, he pushed Cas against the bed, clambering above him.

He stopped short at the look in those blue piercing eyes – adoration, lust, trust. Hurriedly, he rolled the condom onto Cas’ and grabbed him, smirking at the loud moan he received, how wrecked he looked, then slowly descended, until he sat in his lap, his eyes locked with Castiel’s the whole time. Cas’ hands found his hips, two warm points of stability, holding him in place. But Dean, desperate for more even more contact, took them, interlocked their fingers and raised them above Cas’ head, rolling his hips in the process. The movement ignited a fire inside of him; burning him like a match struck in a dried up forest.

The other man didn’t fare better. Cas threw his head back, eyes closed in bliss and moaned Dean’s name, loudly. Dean giggled, fucking giggled, and did it again – and again and again, chasing their pleasure. Eventually, Cas angled his legs to provide more leverage and together they found a rhythm, their bodies moving in harmony, their mouths kissing soundly. It didn’t take long for the crescendo to reach its climax, their tempo slowing down, until the only thing that could be heard was them breathing quietly – Dean resting on top Cas to calm down enough in order to roll away. He was on the verge of falling asleep, soaking up the warmth Cas emanated next to him, when he felt the bed moving, Cas leaving and coming back, shaking him lightly.

“Dean, do you need to clean up? Should I-”

Barely awake, he rumbled his answer, “Nah, ’m good. Takin’ a shower ‘morrow.”

Hearing that, Cas rejoined him, pulling the blanket over them both, his arms encircling Dean. And Dean could do nothing else than to turn towards the heat and the comfort, finally falling asleep.  

*

An insisting knocking on the door woke Castiel from his slumber. Barely conscious he could hear Sam’s voice calling from the other side, “Guys, wake up!”

Groaning he finally managed to pull himself out of sleep, the knocking getting less, but still persistant.

“Dean, your brother -,” Cas mumbled into the neck of the man cuddled in his arms. He could feel the first long inhale of breath after sleep against his arm, before Dean grumbled, “Screw Sam.” He didn’t move a milimeter.

Another, louder knock. Cas buried his face deeper into Dean’s neck, whispering, “Don’t want to screw Sam.”

To drive this point home, he kissed the delicate flesh just below Dean’s hairline. Dean reacted deliciously by arching against him, holding onto Cas’ hand stronger until –

“Oh c’mon!”

Dean sighed, pushed a hand over his face and sat up, grimacing as he wrapped a blanket around himself to open the door for his brother. The wood creaked as he did so, only a small gap so he could show his brother how naked he was and how fucking annoyed at being rudely awakened.

“What?” he therefore barked as he frowned at his brother, squinting as the early morning sun blinded him momentarily.

Sam had the gall to not even look a little bit apologetic.

“Sorry to interrupt, but the Sheriff just called. You gonna let me in?” Sam asked, raising his eyebrows.

Dean answered, grumpily, but opened the door nonetheless after checking that Cas wasn’t lying in bed naked, on full display. There was absolutely no need for Sam to see and for Dean to share. Sam immediately marched into the room as Dean opened it, putting breakfast and coffee on the table. Just as the day before, he greeted Cas cheerfully, ignoring the fact that he was half-naked and half-asleep.

Castiel appreciated Sam’s politeness despite the rude wake up call. The brothers were quite the pair – unusal friendly for hunters, loyal to a degree he himself had never experienced.

The smell of coffee wafted through the room, rousing something primal in Cas, interrupting his train of thought. The question was how to get it without alarming Sam. He looked over to Dean, who stood behind his brother (who had taken a seat by now), still wrapped in a blanket and nodded towards the cups.

“So get this –“

Just as Sam started talking again, Dean raised a hand to stop him, took two cups and shuffled over to Cas, sitting next to him on the bed, handing him a coffee. With his unoccupied hand, he motioned for Sam to keep talking.

“The Sheriff found our mysterious family- The McNamaras. Never got into any trouble, kid doesn’t attend the local school. Father hasn’t been registered as missing, but also hasn’t been at work for several days. She sent me the address, I say we’ll pay them a visit,” Sam concluded. He let his inquisitive gaze travel between Dean and Cas.   

Dean nodded at Sam’s words, sipping his coffee with a look close to pure content. Cas had to smile at the scene they posed. Him and Dean: sitting in bed, naked; Sam: talking about a werewolf family they would have to engange. Like this was a normal day for them. As if they’d known each other for years.  

“Give us a minute to make ourselves decent, Sammy. After that, I’m game. Oh and could you throw in my duffel? I’ll leave the door open.”

It seemed that Sam realised, for the first time, the state the other two occupants were in and what he’d interrupted. His mouth opened and closed for a second like a fish out of water, before he stammered something that sounded like an apology and fled the room. Dean turned to Cas after the door closed, winked and said with all implications included, “I’m gonna take a shower now.”

Cas needn’t be told twice – he followed Dean’s naked backside into the bathroom and if Dean needed longer than necessary, well, Sam didn’t say anything when they knocked on his door and walked over to the Impala. It was once they sat that he tenderly asked, “You didn’t do anything in here, right?”

Dean threw his head back and laughed.

*

The ride to the McNamara’s address was quiet. The quiet before the storm. When they arrived in front of the house, large, hidden, at the of town and the end of the street, a nervous flutter started in Cas’ stomach. Dean parked the car a little away from the driveway and the house, ready for a fast escape if shit should hit the fan, but close enough to have a good look at it. They existed, no words spoken between them, all of them concentrating. Once they circled the house, each of them drew their guns, loaded with silver bullets. A look into the windows revealed a regular living room, kitchen and an office of a family house. All of them empty of occupants. The backdoor between kitchen and garden was locked.

“Sammy,” Dean whispered.

Like a well-oiled machine, Sam shoved himself in front of Dean, got out his picklock supplies and opened the door with a few practiced motions. Cas noticed it with a hint of envy. He had never learned this kind of finesse, had always been a bit of a brute when it came to breaking and entering. Following Sam and Dean through the rooms and the hallway completed the picture of a normal family on a surface level – photos, child drawings, the usual chaos when some place is lived in. Dean, as they reached the staircase to the second level, stopped short, his posture tensing, eyes and ears focused on something. Sam, used to the signs, said, “What is it?”

As an answer, he received a curt nod and Dean indicating with his finger in front of his lips to keep quiet, as he slowly ascended the stairs in a crouched position, finger on the trigger of his gun.

Cas and Sam followed him as he lead them towards a closed door, took a few seconds to compose himself and opened it with a slow squeeking noise. Inside, it was dark and stuffy, the air stale from being used. In a chair in front of the window, a lone figure sat, not turning around as they entered.

“Are you here to kill me, too?” they asked. The voice was raspy and old and belonged to a female.

The words, spoken in a hush, stopped them from walking further into the room, all of them alarmed, their senses heightened by the danger.

Slowly the old woman, with her long grey unkempt hair and small piercing eyes, turned around in her wing chair, looked at them with a look of defeat and said, “Come on in, what are you waiting for?”

They did until they stood in front of her, holding her at gun point. She didn’t move, though, ignored the barrels and fixed her gaze on Dean, sniffing the air like a bloodhound. 

“You’re the one that attacked me. You’re like us,” she spoke with wonder, her eyes widening. It was the wrong thing to say.

“I’m nothing like you,” Dean spat, “I don’t go around killing innocent people. Killing my own family.”

For a brief moment confusion flashed over her face, before being replaced by a smirk appearing on her wrinkled features.

“Yet. You can’t fight it forever. Believe me, I tried. Oh, how I tried. I protected them. Cared for them. And what did I get? For years and decades my family chained me in that basement, fed me animal hearts,” she lamented, a far away look in her milky blue eyes. Then she refocused them on Dean, a content smile on her face, “Nothing compared to this boy’s.”   

Cas didn’t feel remorse or pity as he looked at her, listening intently. If she’d lived clean for years, going off the rails like that was unacceptable. A nagging in the back of his head told him that something about this whole situation was off, though. If the old woman had heard them coming, why hadn’t she tried to run, especially now that she apparently had found her appetite for human hearts and talked about it like the most expensive delicacy she could imagine? And what about the rest of the family? Did she kill them, too? Had she even killed one of her own?

Dean produced a pair of cuffs from his jacket pocket, while Sam still had his gun trained on the woman.

“Okay, lady, don’t do anything stupid now,” he said and carefully approached her to put the cuffs around her thin, wrinkled wrists. She didn’t ask about his intentions, merely held out her arms, then smiled wider, more feral, “Wouldn’t want to make a mess.”

Dean hauled her out of the chair, basically dragging her out of the room afterwards.

“What is he doing?” Cas asked urgently, following him with Sam by his side. Sam wore a conflicting expression, a mix between worry and resolve.

“Taking care of it,” he answered sombrely.  

All the way through the house, through the backdoor into garden, bordering on the forest, Dean dragged the old woman after him, followed by Cas and Sam.

They walked into the woods. The old woman was silent the whole way.

When the forst became denser and the trees started to swallow the light, Dean stopped and pushed her onto the ground, where she sat on her knees, looking up at him. Sam and Castiel stood a few feet away, observing the scene.  

“Will you leave my family alone? They didn’t do anything,” she said. Not begging, but with a certain desperation.

“Jury’s still out on that one,” Dean growled, his gun pointed at her head.  

“You really have no mercy, have you?”   

The gunshot rang and echoed in the peacefulness; the body slumped to the hard, frozen ground. The sounds startled the birds from the trees and whatever other animals lived here. Cas definitely flinched at the sudden loud noise, the silence afterwards. He glanced over at Sam, interested in his reaction. He didn’t look shocked, merely sad. Of course. He was used to this side of Dean, to the way they did their job. Dean turned around to face them, wearing a stoic expression.

They went back to the car to get shovels and buried the body right where it lay, without burning it, and walked back again silently. Sam interrupted, halfway to the house.

“Dean, I want this to be done as much you do, but something isn’t right.”

Castiel nodded. Dean looked between the two of them, bewildered and mildly annoyed.

“Alright. You tell me what’s wrong, Holmes and Watson. Since you know so much better,” Dean said in a condescending voice and a mocking smile. Used to the signs of his brother’s distress, Sam wouldn’t have none of it. He took a calming breath through his nose, his hand hovering in a placating manner in front of his body.

“She went way too willingly. Didn’t even put up a fight, Dean. And what about ‘Are you here to kill me, too?’ What the hell did she mean?” Sam said.

Cas, who harboured these same doubts, added, “I agree with Sam. Did she mean Trevor? Or did she think we killed her son? Because it sounded like she didn’t.”

“Look. No one’s doubting your intelligence. Or professional opinion. But you gotta admit that something smells foul,” Sam said.

“Oh yeah, Sammy. Haha. You got any more dog jokes you wanna share?” Dean spit, annoyance turned into anger.

“It wasn’t – don’t be a dick. Get your head outta your ass and –”

“Nice one, Sam. Go on.”

Annoyed by the brother’s bickering, Cas rolled his eyes and commanded, “Shut up! Both of you. We’ll go back to the McNamara’s, search the house, surveil the family and if they act normal or nothing is out of the ordinary, we’ll leave.”

Sam and Dean turned towards him like two children who misbehaved in the food aisle at a Walmart. It was Dean who answered first, shrugging, “Yeah, ok.”

The athmosphere during the walk back to the car was strained, which was fuelled by the fact that Cas had had to stop the argument that had just taken place and the feeling of uncertainty and dread – the aftermath of killing, of witnessing it. Logically this hunt was over, but it felt far from it. 

The truth was that no matter how noble the cause, taking a life, even it was necessary to safe people, was gruesome. Cas thoughts only stopped spiralling as soon as the house came back into view. Dean stopped them with an outstretched arm, listened for anyone who might have come back home, then proceeded upon hearing nothing.

As it turned out, there was nothing out of the ordinary to find inside the house. They searched every room (taking a closer look at grandma’s room specifically), every cabinet, every nook and cranny, but the house was just that: a normal family house. With the exception of the tons of meat in the fridge. Any werewolf business seemed to be strictly done at the other one on the other side of town.

Waiting was the part Cas hated the most. He wasn’t very patient when it came to surveillance. Being crammed in a car all day, sitting around, doing nothing but watching was exhausting in its own unique way. It was the company which made it a little more bearable. After the initial tension cleared and the house itself showed no results, Dean and Sam started talking like nothing had happened and Cas eventually joined their heated discussion about movie adaptions of books, trying to forget what they’d done earlier and what they might had to do later.

“I’ve read Lord of the Rings, several times, Dean, and the movies are nothing like the books in a lot of regards,” Cas said emphatically. Sam, looking at Cas, nodded, agreeing, “Exactly. And look what they did with the Hobbit movies.” 

“Oh, _come on_ ,” Dean said, his whole face turning into a defensive expression, “The Lord of the Rings movies are a modern fucking masterpiece. Who cares if they’re different from the books? I tell you who cares: nerds. And don’t compare Lord of the Rings to the Hobbit. That’s just insulting.”

“Just because you had big fat crush on Aragorn, dude,” Sam said with an eyeroll, which made Dean sputter and blush in indignation.

“I had not! You take that back,” he retorded with a finger pointed at Sam.  

With a smile, Cas realised that he enjoyed the bickering if it was light-hearted. He’d meant it when he’d told Dean that he envied him for the relationship he had with his brother. Cas had always been the black sheep in the family. Never really accepted the rules and roles his family applied. In his later years he’d spent more time fighting them than anything else and even before that, he was raised to be an obedient soldier, not necessarily an individual. He still remembered his brother’s fists, his mother’s cold words every time he’d turned out to be a disappointment.

By late afternoon, he was ripped from his thoughts by Dean, who suddenly and urgently said, “Quick, down!”

Cas ducked in the backseat.

“What is it?” he asked. 

“Mama-wolf is coming back,” Dean said. They waited until they heard the car driving by, waited a few seconds more, then carefully peaked over the dashboard.

True to Dean’s words, Mrs. McNamara, olive skin, long dark hair, a bit underdressed for the weather and her daughter, same complexion and same dark hair in a braided pigtail, existed the car and went into the house, carrying grocery bags. Dean could feel the tension in the car, the energy that was focused on the house. Sooner or later, the McNamara family would realise that granny was gone and wouldn’t come back and what happened then would be vital. That sooner or later got suspicious after darkness fell and a second car drove by the Impala to park in the McNamara’s driveway.

“What the hell?” Dean murmered. Sam and Cas were unable to see much due to the darkness and the range and even for Dean it was hard, but he was sure that he saw Ranger Griffin exiting his car to ring the family’s doorbell.

Dean instincts told him that something wasn’t right. He voiced that thought out loud, the others already on alert as well and together they sneaked around the house, through the garden into the backdoor.

It was quiet, too quiet. Then a whimper. His body tensing even more than before, Dean turned to Sam, nodding with his head into the direction of the noise. Urgently they walked through the kitchen, to find the family tied up in the living room. Mrs. McNamara and her daughter sat bound together on the ground. The girl looked scared shitless, her mother was crying. And in the midst of it all, Ranger Griffin, a gun trained at Mrs. McNamara. As he heard Dean, Sam and Cas approach his arm swung to them, his gun pointed right at Dean’s chest.

“Whoa, there, Ranger,” Dean said, lowering his own gun.

“That’s Ranger Griffin?” Cas asked, confused and took in the greying short hair, five o’clock shadow on his sunken jaw, the purple bags beneath grey, cold eyes.  

Griffin, surprised and angry, barked, “What do you want here?”

Sam answered, his hand sweeping over the room, “We? What are _you_ doing here?”

He took a second to answer, assessing the situation. The he hissed, “To finish what I started. They are monsters. In a literal sense. I’m ridding the world of evil. That’s what I’m doing. You better believe me, Agents.”

Cas, who had grown up with crazy bigots, took a step forward and pushed himself in front of Dean. Immediately Griffin’s gun was trained on him. Cas raised his hands in a placating manner.

“We know what they are, but listen to me. This is not ridding the world of evil. These people are innocent. They are not responsible for Trevor Conroy’s murder,” Cas said, “Trust us.”

Griffin looked at him, contemplating his words, lowering his gun a little.

“Oh yeah, are they? They might not have murdered him, but they were accomplices just by housing it,” he turned to Mrs. McNamara, “Your husband tried to feed me the same lie. He was loyal, I give him that. No matter what, he wouldn’t tell me anythin’. Lucky me that you,” he turned to the three of them, “Provided me with the last pieces of the puzzle.”

Griffin shrugged, as if confessing to a gruesome murder was a normal Sunday morning activity for him. Cas swallowed, his heart beating wildly. 

“But you know how it is, missy. Justice can’t be stopped,” he went on, finally turning back to Dean, Sam and Cas, “They might not have killed yet, but they will. What I do? It’s called prevention,” Griffin spit.

Cas began to understand that no matter what he’d say, the other hunter wouldn’t stop until his prey was dead. He looked at the little girl, who was watching the interaction with frightened, pleading eyes.

He was about to point out that Griffin intented to kill a child, but Dean beat him to it, “You’re talking about killing this girl. A child. What’s wrong with you, man?”

His gun was still trained at Griffin, finger on the trigger, ready to shoot when necessary.

Sam tried to defuse the situation, “Look, I get it. But do you have any proof that these people killed someone? That Mr. McNamara killed someone? Because else you’re just as bad as the monsters you hunt.”

Instead of calming the other man down, Sam’s words made him angrier. His face became red, his lips transforming into a snarl, a deep crease appearing between his eyes, “Did you just call _me_ a monster?”

His hand shook as he pointed his gun at Sam. Cas’ heart raced as he realised that Griffin would shoot _someone_ , no matter what. The man was here to kill and didn’t care who was in the line of fire. Castiel thought about the body of Mr. McNamara, about Dean next to him. Panicked and sick to his stomach Cas raised his gun.

A shoot rang throuch the living room. Mrs. McNamara shouted into her gag. Her daughter started sobbing. Griffin fell to the ground, a bullet between his eyes.

All three were rooted in place, processing the shock. Sam moved first and quick, as he kneeled down in front of Mrs. McNamara and her daughter. Next to Cas, Dean lowered his gun and turned towards him, putting a steady, grounding hand on his shoulder. Catching Dean’s eyes, Cas could read how grateful he was.

As soon as Sam loosened the gags, Mrs. McNamara began to talk frantically between broken sobs, “I swear we’ve never hurt anyone! We-we-we lived peacefully for generations, I swear, please don’t, please. My child -”

Sam tried to calm her, loosening the ropes around her body, while Cas scrambled to do the same for the girl. 

While untying the ropes, he reassured her, brushing her hair carefully out of her big brown eyes, “Shh, don’t worry. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

Once Cas had unfastened the girl, she crawled into her mother’s arms, crying against her neck. The sight only helped a little to banish the sick feeling in his stomach. It reminded him of what Griffin had been about to do. Swallowing bile, he turned around to inspect the lifeless body of the hunter. His eyes stared at the ceiling; blood had begun to pool around his head. Cas had seen a lot of shit, had done a lot of shit, but suddenly it was all too much. Closing his eyes, he turned back around, mumbling something that sounded like ‘excuse me’ and practically ran for the backdoor.

Snow crunched underneath his feet as he stepped outside the kitchen, fresh one fluttered down on his face, as he turned towards the stars, the waning moon, and took a deep breath, filling his lungs with cold air. His head was spinning.

Behind him, the door opened and Dean appeared, looking pale and sickly, regarding Castiel with a strange look.

“Have you ever killed a person before?” Cas asked before he could stop himself. Dean stood next to him, hands in his pockets, curled into himself.

He caught Cas’ eyes. Nodded his head.

Clearing his throat, he said, “Demons, you know.”

Bridging the last gap, Castiel wound his arms around Dean, his grip tight and secure. Dean hid his face in Cas’ shoulders, his hands clenching Cas’ coat. They stood liked this for a while, Cas absorbing Dean’s unnatural body heat, his solace, hoping to make it better. Dean could understand the feelings of doubt and pain all too well, the anger and fear. To look into a mirror and hate what you see.  

Sam eventually joined them, making his presence known with a quiet, “Hey.”

Dean, not used to showing this kind of affection in front of his brother, disentangled himself quickly and turned around to face Sam, who was unfazed and went on.

“I calmed them down a little and Mrs. McNamara claims she didn’t know about Trevor or what’s happened to her husband, but suspected when he didn’t come home one day. She’d hoped the hunter who did it moved on. I, uhm, I didn’t tell her about, you know. Thought we-,” Sam left the sentences unfinished for Cas and Dean to fill the empty space.

Dean nodded, stroking his hands over his face, “Okay, yeah, okay.” He was the first to reenter the house. Sam put a hand on Cas shoulder, catching his eyes.

“You okay?”

Cas produced a caricature of a smile and patted the hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks, Sam.”

Nodding, Sam removed his hand and followed his brother inside, Cas close by.

Mrs. McNamara still held her daughter, who’d stopped crying, but looked more than spooked and followed them with wary eyes. Without saying anything, Dean walked over to Griffin’s body.  

“Let’s bury that fucker, then we’ll talk. Sam, you stay with them,” he said. He knew Sam was more than capable, but he wanted Cas’ help and his presence with this task. Under the disguise of the night, he walked back to the car and got the shovels for a second time that day.

Together they heaved the body outside and walked through the garden, through the woods, breathing heavy with exhaustion, sweat building underneath their heavy winter coats. The strain in his muscles from carrying, from digging a grave, did little to distract him from what he was about to do and what he’d done earlier this day. Dean wanted nothing more than be done with this whole case, say goodbye to the family and the town and drive back to Bobby’s, Cas preferably in the backseat or front, he didn’t care, as long as he was there with him.

Out of breath, they lowered the body into its cold, hard grave and following this, closed it. By then the snow was falling in thick flakes from the white sky and would hide the hill from curious eyes. Long enough for them to leave town.

Leaning on his shovel, Dean said, “Hey, Cas. I know this is a weird time to ask, but, ah, would you like to join us when this is done? I know I am and I’m looking forward to leavin’ this shithole.”

Despite the situation they were in and the exhaustion he felt, Cas couldn’t help the small smile appearing on his face, at the happiness he felt, answering, “Of course, Dean.”

The walk back was quiet and cold. The only source of heat was Dean’s hand in his. When they entered the living room, Mrs. McNamara was sipping tea from a big cup, her daughter curled up next to her, asleep. Once she saw Dean entering the living room, her façade changed into a pleading look, her big brown eyes focused on the newcomers.

Carefully she put the cup on the coffee table and said, “Like I told your brother, I swear to you that we didn’t hurt anyone. I don’t know what my husband or mother did or why they did it.”

Cas watched Dean crossing his arms in front of him.

“Lady, if we wanted to kill you? We would’ve done it.”

One thing does not rule out the other. Compassion didn’t exclude stupidity. And Cas had come here to find out the truth. He took a step forward.

“Just answer me this: Where were you during the last two full moons? You and the rest of your family.”  

“I-I-I don’t know? At home?” she stammered, confused.

Dean narrowed his eyes, “Yeah? That so? So who attacked us a few days ago?”

He only felt a little bad when Mrs. McNamara burst into tears, her whole body shaking with her quiet sobs.

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry. When Roger didn’t come back, my mother and I - we were scared. She didn’t mean to hurt anyone. We just wanted to spent the night somewhere safe and - and suddenly you were there and she lost control,” she stuttered between tears leaking from her eyes that she wiped away with shaky fingers, “But she’s gone now. She’s gone, just like Roger,” she finished with a broken voice, curling into herself.  

Sam, who sat on an airmchair across from her, darted a pitying look at Dean and Cas. It was uncessecary. Cas already felt pity for the woman in front of him and the little sleeping girl next to her. Maybe she knew, maybe she didn’t that her mother had killed Trevor. Whatever the truth, the fact remained that she had lost half her family to it. She could find closure thinking that Griffin had killed her husband as well as her mother in the wake of Trevor’s murder. There was no need to further agonize or question her. Dean shared a silent conversation with his brother via eye contact, shortly looked at Cas, who nodded and considered his next words with more care than before.

“Uhm, don’t worry. I’m sorry for your loss and the, ah, troubles you experienced. We won’t hurt you, _but_ ,” he caught Mrs. McNamaras eyes, “if you ever kill anyone, too? We’ll find you.”

She understood the intent behind the words, swallowed hard and nodded.

“We won’t. I promise,” she whispered.

There was nothing else to say after that. Tired and exhausted they left the house, walking to the car half-hidden by the darkness of the woods, getting white and wet in a matter of seconds. With a sigh, Dean sat behind the steering wheel of Baby, gathering his last energy to drive back to the motel.

“I can drive, if you want,” Sam said lowly, concerned, even though he looked just as drained as everyone in the car felt. Dean appreciated it, felt warmth blooming in his chest.

“Nah. But thanks, Sammy,” he said and drove back to the Motel where he parked close to their rooms.

Afraid that he would think too much about it or become too nervous, Dean turned to Sam and asked, “That a problem if I’ll spent the night with Cas?”

Cas, who had silently stared out the window the whole ride, lost in his own thoughts about the crazy hunter he’d killed and the events of the case, turned his gaze to the front.

“No, Dean. God, no,” Sam answered vehemently.

With that all three of them left the car and went towards their respecting rooms. Cas wished Sam a good night and unlocked his door.

“See you two tomorrow morning,” Sam said as he opened his own door.

“As early as possible, please,” Dean groaned as he followed Cas inside, closing the door.

Quietly, they undressed to their boxers and fell into bed, Cas shamelessly on top of Dean and buried his face in the other man’s neck. Dean curled his arm around Cas’ shivering shoulders, his hand stroking through his hair down his neck, repeating the motion, until Cas stopped shivering. No words needed to be spoken or well, maybe a few, but not at that moment and not while they were both exposed and vulnerable from the last few hours. Slowly sleep creeped in from the corners of Castiel’s consciousness and he embraced it. 

“Cas?” Dean whispered against his head, pulling him away from the verge of sleep.

“Hmm,” was the only thing he could mumble in reply.

“You’ve gotta promise me somethin’. If I ever loose control, waste me,” Dean murmered. With a racing heart Cas was back to wakefulness in a second, tightening his hold on Dean. Wide eyed he looked up to him. Their faces were incredibly close. In green burning eyes, he found only sincerity.

“I mean it, Cas. If we’re gonna be a thing, if you wanna stay with me, I need your promise. Because _I_ want to be with you. Never wanted anything as bad as this - us. I wanna travel with you, kill the bad guys with you. I wanna fall asleep next to you, experience you, until I know you like the back of my hand.”

Cas’ breath caught at thse words, his face heating up. Green meet blue relentlessly, until Cas understood that the promise was something not to be negotiated and hoarsely said, “Okay. If it means I get to stay: Okay.  What you said - I want that, too.”

Dean claimed his lips in a searing kiss, his wolf possessively curling a hand around Cas’ cheek, the other around his middle, to hold him in place. Cas couldn’t help it but pull Dean impossibly closer, skin to skin, sharing warmth, nurturing the beginning of something new. Something that could keep their demons at bay. Slowly, the heat of the kiss turned into a gentle slide and then stopped with Dean giving him a peck to curl on his side and around Cas. He was out like a light, while Castiel contemplated their conversation until, eventually, he was too tired to stay awake any longer and finally embraced the darkness of sleep.

*

They left town early the following morning, together and without eating breakfast. They collectively decided to eat somewhere else, somewhere far away and on the way home. Warren Zevon blared through the speakers. Sam rode shotgun, reading. Glancing in the rearview mirror, Dean couldn’t help but smile at seeing Cas’ old pickup truck following them at a steady peace as they left behind the cold, the snow and, unknowningly, a little girl with a weighted conscious about the death of three people and unsatible bloodlust.

 


End file.
